


This Longing I Inherit

by myrmidryad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Multi, Slow Build, lady lovings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you hear?” Courfeyrac leaned over the back of the sofa and tried to look at what Grantaire was writing on his laptop. “Marius is in love.” </p><p>Éponine looked up. “What?” </p><p>“Who’s the next prospective lesbian?” asked Grantaire.</p><p> </p><p>In which Éponine tries to ignore ~feelings, Cosette is a bit of an angel, the Amis are the Amis, and Grantaire may not have been entirely wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song [Up in the Rafters](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMXPGFvBUxA) by Lady Lamb the Beekeeper. I have a lot of Éponine/Cosette feelings for this song. Like, just [read the lyrics](http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3530822107858870483/) if you don't want to watch the video/listen to the song. It's so beautiful. _Treat yo'self_.
> 
> So, I think this started out as a vague oneshot idea for Femslash February? And then...well, it grew, and then it wasn't February anymore, and I figured I'd just keep going because why not? And this happened. WOO!

“Did you hear?” Courfeyrac leaned over the back of the sofa and tried to look at what Grantaire was writing on his laptop. “Marius is in love.” 

Éponine looked up. “What?” 

Both boys grinned at her and she pulled a face. So she had pined for Marius for most of their first year only to sleep with him and realise that she was actually gay. So what? 

“Who’s the next prospective lesbian?” asked Grantaire. Éponine hurled a cushion at his face, which he deflected. 

“Did you go to the choir thing in town?” Courfeyrac asked. Grantaire shook his head, screwing up his face. 

“I don’t remember any singing.” 

“You stayed at the café with Enjolras,” Éponine reminded him. “Mooning over him again.” 

“I do not _moon_.” Grantaire affected a dignified tone. “I admire. Mooning’s what you did over Marius.” 

“Shut up. What about the choir thing?” She _had_ gone. Jehan had tried to drag all of them along, but Enjolras had considered it too frivolous and Joly hadn’t wanted to go out in the cold air. Bossuet and Musichetta had tried to persuade him to no avail, and in the end they had left him to his studies. The rest of their little group had allowed Jehan to lead them to the church where the university choir was singing, and they’d had a surprisingly good time. 

“Remember the blonde angel?” Courfeyrac grinned. 

Éponine remembered – the girl who had sung the solo in Latin or Italian or some other language. “Yes.” 

“Apparently Marius was utterly star-struck. He hung around afterwards to try and catch another glimpse of her – you know how shy he is – and she saw him and asked him if he was lost. He must have practically fainted!” 

Grantaire snorted and resumed his typing. 

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac continued conspiratorially, “somehow the angel coaxed him out of his shell and they arranged to meet again. But that’s not the best part. You’ll love this.” 

“Do tell.” Grantaire said dryly, not looking away from his laptop. 

“He forgot to ask for her name! He doesn’t even have her number!” 

“How very Marius,” Grantaire snickered. 

Éponine rolled her eyes and sank back in her chair, trying to get back to reading her book. 

“So uninterested, Éponine?” Courfeyrac teased. 

“Disinterested,” she corrected. 

“Actually, it can be either,” Grantaire told them. They deferred to the Creative Writing student and didn’t pursue the issue. 

“Why shouldn’t Marius get a girlfriend?” Éponine shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me.” 

“Liar, liar,” Grantaire sang. 

“Pants on fire,” Courfeyrac finished, coming round to perch on the arm of her chair and drape an arm around her shoulders. “We’re always available as shoulders to cry on, you know.” 

Éponine stifled a smile. “How sweet of you.” 

“We are very kind,” Courfeyrac agreed. 

“The kindest,” Grantaire nodded. “Although, I think it would be a little awkward if we beat Marius up for breaking Éponine’s heart, since we’d have to keep living together.” 

“Especially since _she’s_ the one who broke _his_ heart.” Courfeyrac smiled as Éponine shoved him off her chair. 

“Shut up. I didn’t break anybody’s heart. And he didn’t break mine either.” 

“Bottling emotions up is very bad for you, you know.” Courfeyrac pulled a concerned face. 

“Don’t tell Joly,” she said snidely, and Grantaire chuckled. 

They all looked up when the front door opened. It slammed closed, and a moment later Marius came into the living room, flushed from the cold. He looked incredibly excited, and incapable of speech. 

“Go on then,” Grantaire gestured imperiously to the chair next to Éponine’s with his foot. “How did the date go?” 

“What’s her name?” Courfeyrac grinned. “Unless you forgot to ask again.” 

“Cosette.” Marius spoke the word with rapture. “Her name is Cosette. Don’t you think it’s a beautiful name?” Courfeyrac had to pull his coat off and nudge him in the direction of the chair to get him to sit down. Éponine exchanged a glance with Grantaire – Marius seemed almost drunk. “She’s a music student –” 

“You don’t say?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow, and it was a show of how distracted Marius was that he didn’t pick up on the obvious jibe. 

“– in our year, I don’t know how we haven’t seen her before,” Marius continued, not seeming to hear him. “She lived in halls last year with four other girls, and now she lives on the other side of the river. Cosette Fauchelevent. She’s truly an angel.” 

“Does that make you a demon, do you think?” Grantaire grinned when Marius gave him an offended look. “Oh don’t worry, I was joking. I think it’s wonderful that you’re in love.” 

“He only met her last week,” Courfeyrac snorted. “You can’t be in love with someone after one date.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you don’t know them properly. You have to know someone to be truly in love with them.” 

“Bullshit.” Grantaire set his laptop aside and went into the kitchen. There were the familiar sounds of the fridge opening followed by a bang and snap as Grantaire opened a beer bottle against the counter and let the fridge door slam as he came back into the room, already holding the bottle to his lips. “Bullshit,” he said again, flopping back onto the sofa. “I fall in love all the time.” 

“No,” Éponine rolled her eyes, “you fall in lust all the time.” 

“How dare you degrade my affections so?” Grantaire said in mock outrage. “I adore each and every woman I kiss.” 

“And take to bed,” Courfeyrac grinned. 

“You adore them?” Éponine raised an eyebrow. “Tell me the name of the redhead who used our shower on Tuesday. Or the name of the girl you picked up at Barricade’s last weekend.” 

“Names are unimportant.” Grantaire waved his bottle and shook his head at Éponine and Courfeyrac’s tutting. “No, no, listen – and don’t you tut me!” He pointed indignantly at Courfeyrac. “You sleep around just as much as I do! I may not be able to tell you what the lovely redhead’s name was, but I can tell you what noises she made. I could describe the shape of her legs and the curve of her back. Aren’t they just as important?” 

“No,” Éponine said flatly. “Tell us more about Cosette, Marius.” 

Marius’ whole face lit up, and the other boys both groaned. “She plays the piano, she told me – that’s her primary instrument, and she also plays the violin, and the flute, though not as much. And she sings.” 

“We know that.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “We saw her perform, remember?” 

She’d had a voice like the warbling of a bird, Éponine remembered. A real trill. She’d never heard anyone sing like that before. 

“She lives with her father, and he’s a bit old-fashioned, but she loves him very much.” 

“She loves him very much?” Éponine raised an eyebrow. “Who says that on a first date?” 

“Her parents are divorced?” Courfeyrac glanced at Grantaire, who kept his eyes down. They all knew his parents had gone through an extremely messy separation, and he didn’t like talking about it. 

“No,” Marius shook his head, “her mother is dead, she told me. Died when she was very young – she doesn’t remember very much of her.” 

Courfeyrac’s phone buzzed and he held up a hand to pause Marius as he checked it. “Combeferre,” he told them. “Are we going over tonight?” 

“Definitely.” Grantaire closed his laptop with a grin. “I can’t wait for Marius to tell everyone about his new girlfriend.” 

“Girlfriend?” Marius seemed taken aback by the idea. 

“Maybe not yet,” Courfeyrac allowed. 

“Did you kiss her?” Grantaire leered. 

Marius blushed to the roots of his hair, and even Éponine had to laugh at the sight. “No.” 

“Did you make plans for another date?” she asked. 

Marius nodded and smiled shyly. “On Thursday. She has the morning off.” 

“But you don’t.” Courfeyrac nudged him. 

“We all skip enough classes anyway because of Enjolras’ protests.” Grantaire stood up and stretched lazily. “One more won’t make any difference.” 

“Not for you, perhaps.” Courfeyrac pushed Grantaire so he fell back onto the sofa. “Creative Writing isn’t as tough as Law.” 

“Or Anthropology?” Grantaire asked snippily. 

“Or Literature and Drama,” Éponine added. “Face it; you and Jehan have the easiest deal out of any of us.” 

“ _Please_.” Grantaire snorted and got to his feet again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bahorel go to a single one of his History lectures. And Political Science can’t be that difficult if Enjolras can miss all of his classes and still get top marks. The bastard.” 

“You’re just bitter because you barely scraped a pass last year.” Éponine pulled her shoes on and laced them up quickly. She could read just as well at the big flat as she could here. 

“First year doesn’t count anyway.” Grantaire pushed a hand through his curls. “Are we ready?” 

“We’re going now?” Courfeyrac whined. 

“No time like the present.” Grantaire clapped him on the back. “I’m going now. Anyone else?” 

“I’m ready.” Éponine stepped over Marius’ legs. “See you guys there.” 

“We’re ten minutes behind you,” Courfeyrac told them. 

Éponine grabbed her favourite scarf from the banister as they left and wound it twice around her neck as Grantaire closed the door behind them. “Very nice,” he said appreciatively. 

“Thanks.” She slid an arm around his waist and set a brisk pace. The night air was unseasonably cold, and she knew her nose would be bright red by the time they got to the big flat, even though it was only a few streets away. 

“Did you see Marius in there?” Grantaire tipped his head back and laughed, breath steaming. “He’s like a ghost! Hardly said a word unless it was about whatshername.” 

“Cosette.” 

“Mmm. I wonder what Enjolras will say. Oh – can we stop at the shop on the way? I’m out of wine.” 

“You alcoholic.” 

“Alcoholics go to meetings,” Grantaire corrected her. “ _I_ am a _drunk_.” 

The big flat was full of warmth and noise when they arrived. It was their favourite place to congregate because it was so large – there was only one main room from which the bedrooms branched off. A small kitchen tucked in the corner to the right as one entered, a small table, and in the far left corner a small TV and a large L-shaped sofa. 

When Éponine and Grantaire came in, a few of the boys cheered, obviously tipsy already. Éponine rolled her eyes and went to perch on the edge of the sofa near Enjolras. He hardly drank at all, and projected a sort of steely calm that made for a quieter atmosphere conducive to her reading. 

Joly and Bossuet were there as well, she noticed, but not Musichetta. The other girl’s absence was both a relief and a loss – Éponine didn’t always get on particularly well with her, but it was nice to have another girl around. She often felt greatly outnumbered when she was on her own. 

“Where’s Chetta?” she asked Joly when he passed by the sofa. 

“Working on an assignment of some kind,” he sighed. “She’s been putting it off for two weeks.” 

“When’s it due?” 

“Two days’ time.” 

“Give her luck from me.” 

Joly smiled. “I will.” 

It was second nature by now to sink into her book and tune out the rowdy background noise of the boys talking and drinking and arguing. She was a member of the ABC society, and technically interested in what they spoke about and protested against, but she didn’t need to devote her every living moment to it the way some of them did. She intended on graduating with a first-class degree in French Literature and Drama, and woe betide anyone or anything that got in her way, even the liberation of the working class and blowing the whistle on police brutality and media cover-ups. 

A gust of cold air from the corridor outside announced Courfeyrac and Marius’ arrival, and Éponine looked around briefly, but quickly went back to her book. What did she care if Marius had fallen head over heels for a singing music student? It didn’t matter to her. 

Though if she was being honest, she didn’t know what he saw in that girl – that Cosette. She hadn’t been that pretty. Quite boring, actually. Long blonde hair and ivory skin. Who went for that sort of thing anymore? Did Marius think they were living in the seventeenth century? 

“Too studious for us tonight, are you?” Bahorel interrupted her thoughts by leaning over the back of the sofa and grinning in her face. “What’s that you’re reading?” 

“Poetry,” she said shortly, closing the book on her finger to keep her place. “What’s the topic tonight?” She reached out and snagged his bottle of cider, taking a drink as he spoke. 

“The police, again,” he took the bottle back and gulped at it. “Bastards are getting really cocky. More unwarranted spot-searches, more embarrassing treatment. Especially for the women they pick up.” 

Éponine hummed non-committedly and looked over at the rest of the boys, crowded around someone’s laptop and gesturing angrily to whatever was on the screen. “Spoiling for a fight?” 

“Always.” Bahorel grinned nastily and finished his cider in two gulps. “Can I get you anything?” 

“No, thanks.” 

“Go back to your poetry then,” Bahorel straightened and clicked his back. 

“Poetry?” Jehan looked around. “You’re reading poetry?” 

“Now you’ve done it,” Éponine sighed. “Yes, poetry. For my course.” 

“Who?” Jehan came over, smiling broadly. He wrote poetry and read _everything_. 

“Pope.” She held the book up for his inspection. 

“Oh, Pope’s good,” Jehan nodded enthusiastically. “Excellent Augustan poet. Have you read _Eloisa to Abelard_ yet?” 

“I don’t think so.” She flicked through the pages with a frown. 

Jehan put a hand on his chest and turned his eyes heavenward. “How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.” 

“Isn’t that from a movie?” Bossuet came up behind him and poked his head. 

Jehan scowled and smacked him lightly across the face. “Unlettered peasant! I was quoting from an excellent world-renowned poet, not a Hollywood blockbuster!” 

“ _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_ wasn’t a blockbuster.” Éponine rolled her eyes. 

“Shakespeare?” Bossuet grinned and darted backwards as Jehan began to swat at him furiously. Bahorel and Éponine laughed as they ran around the room until Enjolras stopped them. 

“What’s wrong with Marius?” Joly’s voice rose above the din, and everyone turned to look. Joly laughed and pointed. “He’s dreaming, look at him!” 

Marius blushed, but didn’t deny it, and Grantaire grinned and flung an arm around his shoulders. “Hasn’t he said? Marius is in love!” 

Éponine gave up on reading and went over to get a drink. “With a singer,” she added as she took Grantaire’s wine bottle from him. There were glasses in the cupboard. She knew her way around the big flat as well as the house she shared with Marius, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire. 

Marius was immediately surrounded, and Éponine rolled her eyes as she poured herself a glass of wine. “What’s her name?” Bossuet asked. 

“What does she look like?” Bahorel shouted. 

“Her name’s Cosette,” Marius spoke quietly, forcing the others to stop shouting in order to listen to him. “She’s a music student.” 

“The blonde angel from the choir thing,” Courfeyrac supplied helpfully. “The one who sung the Latin solo.” 

So it had been Latin. Not that Éponine really cared. 

It took a while for Enjolras to turn the others back to the subject at hand, and he was clearly annoyed at Marius for distracting the others. Éponine shared Grantaire’s wine and got numb fingers when she walked home between him and Marius, Courfeyrac ambling behind them. She hadn’t read enough poetry, and she was irritated at herself for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

She only realised as she was taking her make-up off for bed that she was jealous. It made no sense at all – she truly didn’t think of Marius that way anymore, and she knew she had no claim to him – but it was still there. Figuring it out only made her more annoyed, and her sleep was restless and troubled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette meets Marius' housemates.

Cosette started getting ready for the evening as soon as she got home. She had almost three hours before she was meeting Marius, but she was so nervous. She had botched her flute playing unforgivably today because of it, but there was nothing she could do. She was almost sick with nerves and excitement at the thought of meeting all of Marius’ friends. 

She had seen them at the church recital, a noisy bunch of boys squeezed into two small pews. The other singers had whispered in dismay at their appearance – boys like that usually meant disruption; talking over the music and disturbing the other members of the audience. But they had all fallen quiet for the performance, and Cosette had been relieved. 

When Marius had approached her afterwards, almost too shy to speak, she had been delighted. 

And now she was going to meet his friends. He had told her a few of their names – Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre – but she needed to put names to faces. She wanted them to like her. She wanted them to be friendly and kind. 

She sang along to the radio as she changed her outfit over and over until she had tried on half the contents of her wardrobe, and she barely made it out of the door in time. Dark jeans and a pale grey sleeveless top, green cardigan, cherry coat, and pale blue scarf. Ludicrously simple for all the time she had spent trying things on. She hoped she wasn’t over or underdressed. Her stomach was doing backflips as she hurried to the street corner she and Marius had agreed to meet on. He was already there, and when he saw her his face lit up. “Cosette!” 

“Marius.” She smiled and slid her arm through his. He grinned and led the way. “I’m not late, am I?” 

“No! I was early, that’s all. I didn’t want to risk being late myself.” 

It wasn’t far to his house – closer than Cosette had expected, in fact – but the sky (which had begun to darken when Cosette left her little flat) was starry by the time they got there. 

“We’re in!” Marius called as they entered. The front door opened into a little kitchen. Through a door-less doorway was a narrow flight of stairs and a larger living room. Marius ushered her through and she smiled nervously as two boys turned around to look at her. They were sitting next to each other on the sofa, and for a moment she wondered if they were related, because they both had such dark curly hair. 

“This is Cosette?” the one with the most hair smiled wolfishly. “She’s even prettier close up.” 

She blushed, and he laughed, not unkindly. Marius touched her arm. “Ignore him. Everyone does.” 

“Hopefully not any future agents or publishers.” The boy rolled his eyes and sprung to his feet. “Drink, anyone?” 

“I’ll have one.” The other boy smiled kindly at her. “Marius, you’re terrible at introductions.” 

“Oh! Sorry.” Marius gestured to the boy on the sofa. “This is Courfeyrac. The other one’s Grantaire.” 

“The other one!” Grantaire called from the kitchen. “I like that! Courfeyrac – wine or beer?” 

“Beer.” 

“As you command.” 

“There’s another one, isn’t there?” Cosette asked shyly. 

“Yes – Courfeyrac, where’s Éponine?” 

“Upstairs, doing her face?” 

“Working,” Grantaire corrected as he came in behind her and Marius. “She’s catching up on poetry.” 

“Don’t tell Jehan.” 

“Better if we tell Jehan.” Grantaire handed Courfeyrac a beer and sat down again. “He can recite it all to her with more style than words on a page.” 

“Says the writer.” 

“Shut up.” 

“How’s the novel coming along?” 

“You’re not funny at all, Courfeyrac, and it breaks my heart to see you try.” 

Cosette was curious. “You’re writing a novel?” 

Grantaire snorted. “No. I barely write short stories for class, let alone a novel. I take Creative Writing,” he added by way of explanation. “You’re a musician, aren’t you?” 

Cosette nodded. 

“And you sing.” Grantaire beamed at Marius. “Quite the catch. Well done, Marius.” 

“I’m ready!” someone sang behind them as feet thundered down the stairs. “When’re we leaving? Oh!” Cosette came face to face with a girl a little taller than her with long dark hair. “You’re here.” 

“Hi.” Cosette attempted a friendly smile, but worried it may have come off as more of a grimace. 

The girl seemed to be sizing her up, and Cosette shrank under her gaze and inched a little closer to Marius. “This is Éponine,” he said unnecessarily. 

Éponine nodded, then looked past her at the boys on the sofa. “Drinking already?” 

“Always.” Grantaire raised his bottle without looking at her. 

“Alright then.” Éponine went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of what looked like Coca-Cola. “Do you want some?” She offered it to Cosette. 

“What is it?” Cosette took it out of politeness. 

“Rum and coke.” 

It was sweet, and she smiled as she returned it. “Thank you.” 

“You want one?” 

“Only if it’s no problem.” 

Éponine snorted and gave her glass back to Cosette. “I’ll get myself another.” 

“Éponine, you’re scaring the new girl,” Grantaire called. 

“I’m not scared,” Cosette said, and wondered if she was trying to convince them or herself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Éponine and Musichetta take Cosette under their wing, and there is communal singing.

Cosette was like a frightened deer. All huge eyes and softness. And damn near impossible to dislike. Éponine downed her second rum and coke just before they left and chewed her lip as Marius and Cosette held hands ahead of her. 

“Jealous?” Grantaire whispered in her ear. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, getting Courfeyrac to put his arm around her for warmth. 

“No shame in it, you know.” 

“Go drink yourself into liver failure.” 

“ _Ooooooooooh!_ ” Both boys laughed and she couldn’t help smiling with them. 

“Slow down, lovebirds!” Courfeyrac shouted, and Marius and Cosette fell into step next to Grantaire obligingly. 

“Sing a song, Cosette,” Grantaire demanded. 

“What?” Oh God, she was probably modest too. 

“A song,” Courfeyrac agreed. “Your voice was great at the choir thing.” 

“I…” Her forehead creased. She clearly wanted to oblige, but she was too shy, Éponine saw. Her sister had been like that when she was little. “I can’t think of any, I’m sorry.” 

“You’ll have to do better than that.” Grantaire grinned at her. “Don’t your friends ask you to sing for them?” 

“No,” she whispered. 

“Don’t push, R,” Marius said. 

“I would never.” Grantaire took a deep gulp of his beer. “I issue a challenge.” 

Éponine and Courfeyrac groaned. Cosette looked startled. “What does that mean?” 

“It means he’ll bug you until you do it,” Éponine explained. “He’s insufferable about it.” 

“A challenge!” Grantaire shouted and gave Cosette a serious look. “You have one hour to come up with a song. Can you play the guitar?” 

“I, um. A little?” 

“Wonderful, you can even accompany yourself. Jehan has a guitar I’m sure he’ll lend you. You have one hour to choose a song and sing it to us. No false modesty – we know you’re good. We saw you. So I’m being practically generous.” 

“You’re being an arse,” Courfeyrac drawled, and reached around Éponine to smack the back of Grantaire’s head. “You don’t have to, Cosette.” 

“But if you don’t he really will annoy you,” Éponine felt obliged to add. She would like to hear Cosette sing again. 

“I’ll think of something,” Cosette decided, and Grantaire cheered. 

“Excellent. To the big flat!” 

“Big flat?” Cosette looked at Marius. 

“We’ve got the little house,” he explained, “with the four of us. The big flat is where we usually go to meet because it’s, well. Big. Five bedrooms – Enjolras, Combeferre, Feuilly, Bahorel, and Jehan.” 

“There’s also the tiny house, where Joly and Chetta live.” Courfeyrac added. 

“Musichetta is the only other girl,” Éponine told her. 

“What do you study, by the way?” Cosette asked her. “I know Marius takes Law, and you do Creative Writing.” She looked at Grantaire. 

“I do joint Lit and Drama,” Éponine said, “and Courfeyrac examines the human condition.” 

“I’m an Anthropology student.” He rolled his eyes and poked Éponine in the side. “At least I might have a future.” 

“Oh _don’t_.” Grantaire threw his head back and groaned theatrically. “Career talk gives me hives.” 

The big flat was wonderfully warm after their cold walk. “Dump your stuff on the sofa,” Marius told Cosette. “Everyone does.” 

Éponine threw her coat and scarf on the pile and went to the fridge. They all left stores of booze at the big flat for times like this. 

“You’re Cosette!” 

Éponine turned to see Musichetta launching herself at the much smaller girl with an excited sound. Musichetta was tall, and made herself even taller by stalking everywhere in high-heeled shoes. Her long dark hair was piled and pinned to the back of her head for the night, and she looked like a hawk bearing down on a dove. 

“I’m Chetta. Musichetta, but everyone just calls me Chetta. Another girl, oh my god! Finally!” 

Cosette looked a little overwhelmed, but also very pleased to be so easily accepted. Éponine sneaked over to Marius’ side and leaned up to murmur in his ear, “Has she ever mentioned any other friends, Marius? From her course?” 

Marius frowned, not understanding what she was getting at. “No, not really. Never by name, at least.” 

“Who does she live with?” 

“She lives on her own.” 

_Oh_. Éponine dropped back onto her heels and stared at Musichetta cooing over Cosette’s fine blonde hair. “I saw you sing in that church, you were wonderful…” Living by yourself in your second year was not normal. Students stuck together. Studied together and lodged together. Éponine didn’t know anyone else who lived on their own, because everyone lived with their friends. 

Cosette smiled and chattered back to Musichetta, opening up like a flower under the sun. 

Didn’t Cosette have any friends? 

“Ponine, come here!” Musichetta beckoned. Éponine left Marius and smiled as Musichetta threw an arm around Cosette’s shoulders. “You’re coming out tonight, aren’t you?” 

“Of course.” 

“Out?” Cosette looked up at Musichetta. “Where?” 

“Barricade’s,” Musichetta grinned. “You’re coming, aren’t you?” 

“I don’t know…” Cosette looked down at herself anxiously. 

“You look fine,” Éponine assured her. Realising that Cosette must be virtually friendless had banished her irrational jealousy like frost in the sun, and she felt strangely protective of her all of a sudden. 

“Are you sure?” Cosette bit her lip. “Marius didn’t say anything about going out.” 

“Marius is a forgetful tit.” Musichetta tossed her head. “Come on. You too, Ponine.” 

Éponine followed them into the big bathroom and nudged the door closed with her foot. “What’re you doing?” 

“Eyeliner,” Musichetta declared, rummaging in her little shoulder bag. She pulled out a tiny pot and a brush and manhandled Cosette under the light. “Stay still.” 

“Why do I have to be here for this?” Éponine asked, watching as Musichetta dabbed the brush in the pot and frowned at Cosette’s eyes (and of course Musichetta carried gel eyeliner around with her; Éponine didn't even know why she was surprised).

“Girl talk,” Musichetta said as if it was obvious. “Look up, Cosette.” 

Cosette did as she was told, meek as a lamb. 

“We need to keep Cosette around,” Musichetta explained as she worked. “No offence, but one other girl isn’t enough. Even I get bored of the boys sometimes. We need more girls, and that means we need to make sure that even if Cosette and Marius split up, she’ll stick around. If you’d like to, that is,” she added, smudging at Cosette’s eye with her thumb. 

“I don’t mind,” Cosette said, smiling. 

Neither did Éponine. The poor girl looked like she needed all the friends she could get. 

“Wonderful. So, let’s get to know each other. I’m Musichetta, I do Journalism. I have one big brother and two little brothers, my parents are divorced, and I have practically no shame. Éponine, your turn.” 

“Oh, um.” She racked her brain. “Éponine Thénardier, French Lit and Drama, one little sister, three little brothers. My parents own a pub and rob their customers blind…I like ice-cream?” It was like the first week of her fresher year all over again. 

“Good enough.” Musichetta started on Cosette’s other eye. “Your turn, Cosette.” 

“Um…I’m Cosette, I take Music, I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Um…my mother died when I was eight, but I don’t remember very much about her because she was in the hospital a lot. My father isn’t…technically my father? He adopted me after my mother died, but he’s my father in every way that counts. I play five instruments.” 

“God, really?” Musichetta raised her eyebrows. “Which ones?” 

Cosette relaxed. Éponine was still in shock at her slightly tragic life story. “Piano, violin, flute, guitar, and recorder.” 

“Does recorder count?” Éponine found her voice. “Every kid under ten plays the recorder in school.” 

“I took exams for it?” Cosette scrunched up her nose, embarrassed. 

“Oh my god, you’re an actual prodigy.” Musichetta straightened up and smiled at her creation. “Done. Too much, do you think?” 

Dark rings around Cosette’s eyes made her look mysterious and older than she was. Éponine shook her head as Cosette beamed at her reflection. “It’s amazing! Thank you!” 

“My pleasure.” Musichetta smiled, pleased. “I’ll just do mine, hang on.” Her brush flicked a few times around each eye, and she was done. Obviously practised. Éponine felt practically plain next to them now. 

The door burst open and Joly recoiled. “Whoops! Sorry.” 

“We’re done,” Musichetta assured him, planting a kiss on his lips as she waltzed out. “When’re we leaving?” 

“Eleven.” Joly recovered himself and stood back to let Éponine and Cosette pass. 

“Excellent. I need another drink.” 

Éponine and Musichetta flanked Cosette and pointed out each of the boys, adding facts and warnings about them as they went. 

“Joly and Bossuet are best friends. They do everything together.” 

“Joly’s a hypochondriac. Don’t sneeze or cough anywhere near him. And he’s really into alternative medicine, so don’t get him started on homeopathy or we’ll be arguing all night.” 

“Bahorel is probably going to fail History, but he’s the star of the rugby team, so he scrapes by alright.” 

“Bossuet’s real name is Laigle, but no one ever calls him that.” 

“And Jehan’s real name is Jean Prouvaire, but we never call him that either.” 

“Enjolras is a stuck-up, tight-arsed wanker.” 

“No he isn’t. He’s just very serious.” 

“Don’t ever mention divorce in front of Grantaire. His parents split up and it seems to have given him some form of PTSD.” 

“Combeferre is very into education and minority rights. Always up for a conversation.” 

“Courfeyrac is a bit of a ladies’ man. And when I say a bit, I mean a _lot_. He's a man's man too, come to that - he'll screw anything with a pulse.” 

“Feuilly dropped out last year, but he makes enough from his online shop to keep living here. He makes things – bags, hair pins, book covers, all sorts. He was an Art student, but he didn’t like the restrictions.” 

“Bossuet is the unluckiest person you will ever meet. If it wasn’t so tragic it’d be hilarious.” 

“Don’t get Jehan started on romance. He takes his poetry very seriously, and he reads pretty much everything he can get his hands on.” 

“You probably know everything important about Marius anyway, but I bet you don’t know that his father was a baron. He died before it could be made official, but we still call Marius ‘Baron Pontmercy’ sometimes to annoy him.” 

“Combeferre’s got a huge –” 

“Cosette!” Grantaire interrupted their whisperings with a flourish of his wine glass. “An hour has passed. Actually, more like an hour and a half – I lost track of time a bit – but the challenge stands! Have you thought of a song?” 

“Oh God, you didn’t let him _challenge_ her to something?” Musichetta moaned to Éponine, who shrugged helplessly. As if she could have stopped it. 

“I have, actually.” Cosette was a little bolder after being dolled up by Musichetta. “Could I borrow the guitar?” 

Grantaire looked like he would hug Cosette on the spot. Éponine didn’t think anyone had ever accepted one of his challenges with such grace. “Jehan!” he bellowed. “Get your guitar!” 

“Why?” Jehan shouted back. 

“Cosette’s going to sing!” 

“One second!” 

Éponine laughed as the boys scrambled to make space for Cosette in the middle of the room. Combeferre dragged the table in front of the TV out for her to sit on and Jehan handed her his guitar reverently. She giggled, cheeks a little flushed (probably a lightweight – she was very small), and sat down obligingly, strumming a few chords and fiddling with the tuning. Musichetta grabbed Éponine’s arm and hissed in her ear, “Look at Enjolras. He looks like he’s just eaten a lemon!” 

Éponine snorted. She didn’t dislike Enjolras the way Musichetta did, but his charisma didn’t extend into casual social situations like this. He had claimed in their first year that Musichetta was distracting Joly and Bossuet. She had retaliated by slapping him across the face. At the insistence of everyone else, they had achieved a wary stability. As long as they didn’t talk to each other for too long, they could at least tolerate each other’s presence in the same room. 

Enjolras didn’t look too pleased, but Éponine suspected that it was more down to not being comfortable in a situation he didn’t really _get_ than bitterness. 

They all quietened down as Cosette began to pick out the first few notes of a song that Éponine recognised immediately, though it took a moment for the name to come to her – _The Cave_ by Mumford  & Sons. She saw the others nod in recognition, and Cosette smiled before she started to sing, higher than the original singer. Her voice soared on the chorus, her fingers sure on the strings of Jehan’s guitar. 

It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Éponine sneaked a glance at Marius and smiled at his enraptured expression. Even Enjolras had lost his sour look. When Cosette stopped singing for the instrumental part, she laughed delightedly at their faces. “Sing along,” she encouraged before launching into the next verse. 

Musichetta was the first to add her voice, harmonising effortlessly and leaning into Joly as she sung. Cosette nodded and smiled at the others, and of course Grantaire was the first to burst into song, a little behind Cosette and Musichetta, his deeper voice almost shocking. He nudged Feuilly next to him and he joined in as well, and suddenly they were all singing. Surprisingly well too. Only Enjolras remained silent. Hesitant at first, then a little louder, Éponine started to sing as well. 

Not everyone knew all the words, but Cosette kept it going, her voice and Musichetta’s high over the others’, and Éponine joined in with them, enjoying Bahorel’s surprised smile in her direction. She didn’t have a bad voice herself. 

“And I will hold on hope,” they sang loudly together, no longer hesitant, “and I won’t let you choke on the noose around your neck.” 

Cosette was practically glowing, singing with her whole body. “And I’ll find strength in pain, and I will change my ways, I’ll know my name as it’s called again.” 

Everyone burst into applause as she finished, and Grantaire let out a loud whoop. Marius went over to take her hand as she stood up and curtsied, flushed with pleasure. 

“You’re wonderful!” Musichetta cried. “Look! Even Enjolras is smiling!” 

“Perhaps I would smile more if you didn’t pester me so much,” he retorted, but his lips were indeed curved slightly upwards. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?” 

“Shit, we’ll be late!” Combeferre jumped to his feet. “Everyone raise your glasses!” 

Éponine quickly passed Cosette her nearly-full glass and ran to the kitchen to get herself another. “Wait, wait, wait! One second.” 

“You’re holding everyone up!” Bahorel shouted. 

“Get a move on!” Everyone was up now, and Éponine poured herself one more glass of rum and coke, swaying on her feet. 

“Alright, I’m ready!” 

Cosette looked confused, but enthusiastic enough. “It’s a tradition,” Marius told her as everyone lifted their glasses up above their heads. “We all down our drinks before we leave and take a new one with us if we want.” 

“On the count of three!” Combeferre got up on the table and waved an arm like a conductor. “A-one, two, _three!_ ” 

Silence but for the sound of liquid moving down throats in unison, and Grantaire finished first with a triumphant shout, slamming his glass down on the floor a split second before Feuilly. Éponine finished with a gasp and yelled, “Last person to finish buys the winner a drink!” 

Cosette, who had obviously been taking her time, spluttered and tried in vain to drink faster, but she was too far behind now. “You didn’t tell me that!” She pushed Marius accusingly when she’d finished, grinning to show she wasn’t serious. 

Marius laughed. “I forgot! I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not.” Grantaire stretched and headed over to the kitchen. “I owe whoever owns this –” he held a bottle of cider up, “– a drink.” 

“Mine, obviously.” Bahorel snorted. He was the only one who drank cider regularly. 

“Let’s go!” Combeferre seemed to have taken it upon himself to be their leader that evening. 

Enjolras brought up the rear as usual as the thirteen of them stumbled out of the big flat, down the stairs and out onto the street. Éponine staggered against Courfeyrac, and he called Jehan over with a loud laugh to make a seat with their hands for her to sit on. Ahead of them, Cosette was leaning heavily against Marius, laughing and talking animatedly. Liquid courage indeed. Éponine approved and flung her arms around Courfeyrac and Jehan’s shoulders as they lifted her into the air. 

“Country music singers,” she belted out loudly, impulsively, “have always been a tight-knit family.” 

Courfeyrac and Jehan joined in immediately, followed by the others. They all knew the words. “But lately some of my kinfolk have disowned a few others and me.” Éponine ruffled their hair and sang as loudly as she could, bolstered by the memory of Bahorel’s surprise at her voice earlier. “I guess it’s because I changed my direction. Lord, I guess I went and broke their family tradition!” 

Cosette was the only one not singing along, but she looked like she was enjoying herself thoroughly. Éponine grinned up on her perch and waved her arms vigorously, careless of whoever might be disturbed by their song. 

“Why do you drink?” she half sang, half shouted. 

“To get drunk!” the others yelled back. 

“Why do you smoke?” 

“To get high!” 

“Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?” 

“To get laid! 

They all bellowed together. “Over and over everybody makes my predictions! So if I get stoned I’m just carrying on the family tradition!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The version of _The Cave_ I have in mind for their little sing along is the amazing [cover by Natalie Holmes](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3sS7TT5WBM), and the song they all sing together at the end is [Family Tradition](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHjaW9sXl7s) by Hank Williams Jr.
> 
> And I think we should all just collectively turn a blind eye to the fact that a bunch of French students are belting out a country song from the USA in the middle of Paris. Everyone in agreement? Excellent. YAY DENIAL!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cosette goes clubbing with the Amis.

Cosette queued at the bar with Chetta to buy Grantaire a drink. She watched him and giggled as he tried and failed to get Enjolras onto the dance floor. “Why does he come?” she shouted in Chetta’s ear. “If he doesn’t like it?” 

Chetta had to bend down to hear her. She was almost a foot taller than Cosette in her heels. She shrugged in answer to Cosette’s question. “No idea. Grantaire’s in love with him.” 

Cosette’s eyes widened and she looked over at them again. Grantaire had given up and was eyeing the girls as they walked past him on their way to the toilets, always in groups of three or more. “Really?” 

“Kind of!” Chetta leaned down to yell into Cosette’s ear. “He fucks loads of girls, but he hangs on Enjolras’ every word. Makes no fucking sense to me. And Enjolras is a statue.” 

Cosette stared at Enjolras, leaning against the wall as though he was waiting for a bus. He didn’t check out anyone – boys or girls – even though quite a few gave him appreciative looks of their own. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. He was almost formidably good looking, but as Chetta had said, like a statue. Carved of marble, not something capable of such base feelings as lust and love. 

“Your order,” Chetta shouted. 

“Oh!” Cosette leaned her elbows on the sticky counter. “Can I have…um, one of those, please?” She pointed at a beer bottle being carried away by another clubber. “And a rum and coke?” 

Grantaire kissed her cheek when she presented him with his prize. “Come on,” he grabbed her hand and led her over – carefully, more gently than she had expected – to where Marius and the others were dancing. 

Cosette was in heaven. Even when the others forced her to down her drink, she felt positively radiant. “We like to drink with Cosette, cause Cosette is our mate! And when we drink with Cosette, she downs it all in eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” 

Their _mate_. She knew it was just a drinking chant, but it still buoyed her up and made her happier than she could have believed possible. She had never been out like this before. Only a few times at the beginning of her first year with the other girls in her university flat, but they hadn’t been overly welcoming and she had been too shy to push, and it wasn’t as if she could go out on her own. 

Going out with Marius and his friends was like stepping into a different world. They were all so easy with each other, so raucous and enthusiastic. They didn’t treat her like a stranger, but seemed to envelop her without even thinking about it. Perhaps it was because they were almost all boys, but then Éponine and Chetta were lovely too. Whenever any of them needed to pee, they signalled to the others and they all went together. A girly ritual Cosette had never been privy to before. 

They danced in circles, facing each other and shouting the words to the songs they knew. Enjolras never actually _danced_ , but stayed close and seemed involved without actually participating. Grantaire moved through groups of other people, searching out a partner for the night, and Bahorel did the same. Chetta was obviously quite drunk, lurching between Joly and Bossuet and dancing filthily with both. Cosette was surprised, but Joly just smiled and no one else said a word, so she didn’t either until Chetta ducked out for a smoke and only Éponine came to the bathroom with her. 

“Éponine,” Cosette had to lean heavily against the wall, and Éponine giggled at the sight before stumbling into a cubicle. “Chetta and Joly and Bossuet…what’s…what are they doing?” 

Behind the door, Éponine laughed hysterically. “That’s the big question! They do it all, they’re just…we don’t know. No one really talks about it. I guess boys don’t talk about these things, y’know? She lives with Joly but they both sleep with her. Joly and Bossuet are besties for life…” The toilet flushed, and Éponine came out, staring wide-eyed at her reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands. “But I can’t tell whether they’re gay,” she finished after a moment, turning to Cosette and grinning. “It’s…it’s like…Joly’s her boyfriend, but Bossuet is as well? But don’t,” she leaned close to Cosette and grabbed her shoulders, “don’t ever even _think_ of suggesting that they share her, or that they take turns or something. Enjolras said something like that once, and she hit him in the face.” 

Cosette stared. “I can’t…” Was she drunk? She blinked quickly. “I can’t imagine anyone hitting Enjolras.” 

Éponine’s grave expression broke as she giggled. “I know! He’s so _serious!_ ” 

Cosette snorted. “Like Kocoum.” 

“What?” 

“From Pocahontas? The Disney movie?” For a moment Cosette worried that she had made a fool of herself, but then Éponine started to laugh and laugh. 

“Oh my _god_ , you’re _right!_ Just like Kocoum! Oh, Christ, we’ve got to tell Chetta, she’ll _piss_ herself.” 

Cosette allowed Éponine to pull her out into the smoking area and tell Chetta, who did indeed shriek with laughter. Cosette laughed with them, oddly proud and shy. Was she funny? She hadn’t known she could be funny. Chetta gave the last of her rollup to Bahorel when she could speak again. “I’m not supposed to be smoking anyway,” she confided to Cosette before they went back in. “Joly hates it.” 

“Why?” 

“He’s a medical student. He’s certain smoking will put me in my grave before I’m thirty.” 

“What about the others?” Bahorel smoked quite a lot, but Feuilly had also been puffing away in the smoking area, and Cossette had seen Grantaire, Éponine, and Jehan sneak out to smoke as well. 

“Oh, he hates that too,” Chetta had to shout as they re-entered the club. “He lectures them whenever they do it!” 

“I only smoke when they do!” Éponine protested, and Chetta laughed. 

Some of the others left earlier, but Cosette stayed until perhaps half past two or three. She had never stayed out so long before, but then she had never wanted to. Everything was different with Marius and his friends. 

She leaned against him and smiled happily as he hugged her close against his side, both of them more than a little unsteady on their feet. Éponine, Combeferre, Jehan, and Enjolras walked with them, all but the latter talking loudly and occasionally breaking into song. Cosette was breathless with laughter as they reached the road of the big flat and everyone but Marius and Éponine said their goodnights and broke off. 

“Have to get cabs soon,” Éponine mumbled, shivering. Cosette frowned and looked up at Marius. 

“You should hug her too. I’m much warmer like this.” 

“Of course,” he smiled and held out his hand to Éponine. “You heard her. You walk with Grantaire and Courfeyrac often enough.” 

“I haven’t slept with Grantaire or Courfeyrac,” Éponine muttered, sliding her arm around Marius’ waist above Cosette’s. For a moment, Cosette thought she had misheard, but then what Éponine had said sank in and she couldn’t stop her jaw dropping. 

“You…two? Both of you…what?” 

“Oh.” Marius acquired a pained look, but Éponine waved her hand. 

“No, no, no, it’s not like that. Not like…well, it was a little bit, but not…hang on.” She took a deep breath and then met Cosette’s eyes steadily, talking as seriously as she had in the bathrooms earlier. “I used have the biggest crush on Marius. He’s just so incredibly _nice_ , you know? And I kind of attached myself to him and thought I was in love with him, and then we both got incredibly drunk and slept together, and then I realised that I was a lesbian.” She smiled brightly. “Happily ever after!” 

It took Cosette a moment to take all of that in. “You’re a lesbian?” 

“Gay as a unicorn shitting rainbows,” Éponine said cheerily. 

“I never come off very well in that story,” Marius said, sounding a little dismayed. 

“Good thing you’re so charming in real life then.” Éponine ruffled his hair and stepped away as they reached the turn-off for their street. “See you tomorrow.” 

Cosette was utterly confused. “What?” 

“He’s walking you home, genius.” Éponine rolled her eyes as she backed up the street. “Don’t wake me up when you get in.” 

“I won’t,” Marius shouted, and they kept walking, Éponine’s figure vanishing around the corner. 

Cosette’s brain ran through everything quickly– he was walking her home, but Éponine expected him back that night. Unless she meant waking her up in the morning? Did she expect Marius to stay at Cosette’s for the night? Was that what Marius expected? 

She was not ready for that. Not by a long stretch. If he asked, she would say no. She was certain he wouldn’t push – he was too kind for that. But she would hate to upset or disappoint him. His arm tightened around her shoulders and he laughed quietly. “If Grantaire’s back home, I won’t be able to wake her up anyway.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Actually, that depends on whether he was successful tonight or not. If he’s brought a girl back to ours,” he explained, “Éponine will put her earplugs in. Grantaire’s too loud, and he forgets to be quiet when he’s drunk. Which is always. So even if I was too loud getting back in, she wouldn’t hear me.” 

“Are you really that noisy?” Cosette started to smile. He was meant to be back tonight, not tomorrow. Everything would be fine. 

Marius smiled embarrassedly. “I tend to fall over a bit when I drink. And everyone leaves their shoes everywhere in the kitchen, and there are chairs, so…” 

Cosette giggled, and Marius laughed with her. 

“Just after we moved in,” he told her, “I got in late on my own and tripped over a chair. Either I knocked myself out or just passed out, but the girl Grantaire brought over that night found me the next morning and screamed the house down. She thought I was dead! I was asleep, curled up on the kitchen floor and she just wouldn’t stop screaming, even after I woke up!” 

Cosette clutched at his arm, practically crying with laughter. For some reason the whole mental image struck her as particularly hysterical, and she couldn’t stop laughing. It was almost a surprise when they arrived outside the door of her building and stopped walking. “Did you have fun?” Marius asked. 

Cosette beamed and put her hands around the back of his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair. She had never touched a boy like that before, and impulsively she went up on tip-toes and pressed her lips to his, just for a moment. But when she pulled away he looked at her like she had given him the sun. “I had the best time _ever_ ,” she told him honestly. “Your friends are amazing.” 

“Don’t tell them that.” Marius recovered himself and rested his hands on her waist. “They’ll never shut up about it.” He hesitated, then leaned down a little. Cosette moved closer and let him kiss her. 

She had never kissed anyone before either. She had kissed her mirror and her own skin, but it was nothing at all like this. This was so much softer, and so much warmer. And wetter too, but in a good way. After perhaps a minute or two, they separated and smiled breathlessly at each other. “Thank you,” Cosette found her voice, “for taking me out tonight.” 

“Thank you for coming,” he murmured. 

She thought about kissing him again, but hugged him instead, wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing tight, relishing the sensation of another person in her arms, close and warm and hugging her back. “Goodnight.” 

“I’ll see you soon?” Marius asked as she drew away and got her keys out of her pocket. 

“Definitely.” 

After the club’s din and Marius’ chatter, her flat seemed particularly quiet and empty. Her good mood vanished almost like it had never existed, and Cosette felt close to tears as she undressed and scrubbed half-heartedly at the make-up Chetta had put around her eyes. In the end, she simply curled up in bed and fell asleep, hoping that she would relive the entire night in her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More English/American drinking songs in France...shhh, we'll ignore it together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Éponine, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and one of Courfeyrac's lady friends encounter a sleeping Marius and silliness happens.

Éponine opened the door cautiously and cocked her ear towards the ceiling. No giggles and thumps – Grantaire had probably gone back to the girl’s place instead. Thank God. She sighed and closed the door, thinking at the last moment to sweep the pile of shoes aside with her foot. Marius would still find something to trip over, no doubt, but at least she’d tried to help. 

As she went upstairs, she paused, one hand on the wall, the other in her hair. She could hear something. A muffled moan and the sounds of a bed shifting. She turned the corner on the stairs and saw that Grantaire’s door was open, and his room was dark, but Courfeyrac’s room was obviously occupied. She scowled and had to resist the urge to put her fist through the thin wall. Was it too much to ask her horny housemates for one decent night’s sleep after going out? If it wasn’t Grantaire, it was Courfeyrac. At least Courfeyrac was quieter, and his bedroom wasn’t right next to hers. 

She could still hear them in her bedroom, and she scrambled around for her earplugs, blushing as Courfeyrac groaned loudly. “Thank God,” she muttered, finding them and shoving them in her ears. The world became muffled and distant, and she took off her make-up and got into bed in peace. She didn’t hear Marius get in a while later and trip over a shoe she had missed, or Grantaire wander in early next morning. She slept until noon and woke up slowly, knowing the moment she sat up, a headache would hit her with the force of a speeding train. Still, such things had to be faced, and she groaned as she pulled herself into a sitting position and closed her eyes as the world span a little. She shouldn’t have had so much to drink. 

Her phone was lying on the floor near her discarded tights, and she leaned down to twitch it close enough to pick up, not quite ready to leave the warmth of her bed. She had three messages – two from Courfeyrac and one from Grantaire. Both gabbled excitedly about Marius being asleep on the stairs, and the second message from Courfeyrac contained a photo of Marius with all manner of objects piled on top of him, and lipstick smeared over every available inch of exposed skin. 

“Please let him still be there,” Éponine muttered, grinning to herself as she swung her legs out of bed. Here at least was something worth getting up for. She only remembered to pull her earplugs out after she realised she hadn’t heard herself speak out loud, and as soon as she did she could hear stifled whispers and giggles from the other side of her door. She was already smiling as she cracked it open, and had to swallow down a full-throated laugh when she saw them. 

Marius was passed out halfway up the stairs, like he had tried to get to bed, but given up at a strategic resting point. Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and a girl Éponine didn’t recognise were crouched around him, giggling furiously as they tried to balance yet more objects on top of Marius’ unconscious body. He already had a sofa cushion, an unplugged lamp, several plates and bowls, a fair amount of toilet roll, one of his own Law books, and a few pots and pans. Courfeyrac was trying to balance a mug with a packet of bacon in it on top of the Law book while Grantaire snapped photos on his phone. 

When they saw her, they had to put their hands over their mouths to keep from laughing too loudly. Grantaire scrambled up beside her and whispered in her ear. “We used up all of Annette’s lipstick on his face before we started putting things on him. Do you have Cosette’s number?” 

“I wish I did,” Éponine snorted, imagining what Marius would do if they managed to send Cosette photographs of this mess. “Have you shown the others?” 

Grantaire raised his eyebrow. “Of _course_. What do you take me for? Feuilly thinks we should put things around him too, so he looks like a tribal shrine or something.” 

“The shot glasses,” she said immediately, and Grantaire pumped his fist. 

“You are a genius! Courfeyrac!” 

“What?” He didn’t look away from his balancing attempt. 

“Get the shot glasses!” 

“Why?” 

“To put around him. Like a shrine.” 

“Brilliant!” Courfeyrac hissed. He passed the mug and bacon to Annette. “You try.” 

She scooted closer and squinted, trying to put the mug in exactly the right place. She had pink-streaked blonde hair and smudged eyeliner. Éponine leaned against the wall. “How was your night?” she asked Grantaire. 

“Her name was Noelle.” Grantaire grinned smugly. “I remembered just for you. Though I thought her nipple piercings were far more worthy of committing to memory.” 

Éponine scrunched up her face. “Too much information.” 

“In your opinion.” 

Courfeyrac reappeared with the box of shot glasses that had been their first joint purchase as housemates. They had explored the city together and tried to find the most obscure little shops and cafés, and in a tiny emporium had discovered a box of twelve shot glasses apparently from the fifties. Each one was decorated with a sign of the zodiac, each in a different colour. Usually they stayed at the big flat for everyone to use, but Courfeyrac and Marius had brought them back recently for some reason or another. Clearly, it was fate. 

Éponine crouched down to help arrange the glasses around Marius’ body, and exchanged a grin with Annette. “Think we should fill them up with something? Or would that be too much effort?” 

“He might knock them over when he wakes up,” she replied. Courfeyrac always managed to find the sensible ones. 

He nodded. “Good point.” 

“Stand back.” Grantaire waved his arms and they all ducked out of the way so that Grantaire could take more photos. “This is too perfect. Could we afford to print pictures and put them all over the town?” 

“No,” Éponine said simply. “And I think that might be too far even for you.” 

“No such thing,” he muttered, turning his phone sideways for a better shot. “Anything else we can put on him? Éponine, do you have any dildos?” 

She’d lived with him for too long to be fazed, though Annette’s eyes widened. 

“Not for putting on Marius, I don’t.” 

“Boring.” 

“You’re telling me you don’t have any toys of your own?” 

“Oh!” Courfeyrac leapt over Marius and into his room. Grantaire and Éponine exchanged a startled look. 

“Does he have kinks we didn’t know about?” he asked. Without thinking, they both turned to look at Annette, who reddened. 

“None he showed last night!” 

“Remember this?” Courfeyrac came out of his room with a deflated plastic shark in his hands. Éponine stifled a groan, but Grantaire grabbed it and started to inflate it enthusiastically. Another relic of their first couple of weeks together. The four of them had gotten spectacularly drunk and Marius had bought the shark from a stranger in a bar. On the same night, Grantaire and Courfeyrac had duelled with foam swords up and down the streets, Éponine had tried her first jaeger bomb (never again), and they had walked all the way to the park on the other side of the city and persuaded Grantaire they were all going to jump into the lake. Of course, he fell for it, and out of sympathy they each lent him items of their own clothing while he left his soaked clothes in a heap under a tree. Apparently a concerned citizen had called the police the next morning, thinking that someone had committed suicide. 

“Fond memories,” Courfeyrac smiled dreamily, and Grantaire rolled his eyes. He obviously had quite the pair of lungs on him, because the shark was inflated in under a minute, and they passed it over to Annette to balance on top of the unstable pile of things on Marius’ back and side. 

“Nearly,” Grantaire had his phone at the ready, almost dancing with anticipation. “Nearly…” 

Annette let go and punched both her hands in the air when the shark stayed. The pile was actually bigger than Marius now, and Courfeyrac was almost crying with laughter while Grantaire merrily snapped photo after photo. 

Éponine saw Marius’ hand twitch, and she grabbed Grantaire’s arm. “Start filming! He’s waking up!” 

Grantaire snickered as he switched over to video recorder, and they all stopped holding back their laughter as Marius stirred and the pile collapsed, making him jerk up in shock before groaning and lying down again. “I hate you all!” he moaned. 

Grantaire had to slide down to sit on the floor, he was laughing so hard. “But Marius, we love you!” 

“We made you a shrine!” Courfeyrac laughed. 

“Made you _into_ a shrine, more like,” Éponine giggled. Her head was still pounding, but she definitely didn’t mind as much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cosette continues to make friends with the Amis.

Cosette found Enjolras on twitter the morning after. She had resolved not to leave her bed except to pee and eat, and she was sitting quite comfortably in a nest of pillows with her laptop balanced on top of her duvet. She remembered her sudden attack of intense loneliness last night, but by the time she woke up it had disappeared. It was probably the shock of having such a good time with so many friendly people, she decided, snuggling into her dressing gown. She hoped that Chetta had been serious about making sure that she could still be friends with them even if she broke up with Marius. Which she didn’t particularly want to happen in any case – Marius was lovely. Boys had looked at her before, whistled at her, smiled at her, but none had ever actually approached her. She had been beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her. 

And Marius was so sweet and shy, and so kind for introducing her to all of his wonderful friends. She was as happy this morning as she had been lonely last night. She felt as though they really did like her. She hoped they liked her. 

Enjolras had several hundred followers, and his tweets were mostly about local politics. It was actually quite interesting – Marius had told her that he and his friends were quite involved in local protests and some wider-spread movements as well, and they were all members of a society called the ABC. Enjolras was obviously the most passionate. Through his account, Cosette managed to find Marius, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Jehan, and Feuilly, whose account a link to his online shop. She made a mental note to look at that when she had time, and looked at her own twitter, comparing it to theirs. 

Hers seemed very dull and self-absorbed after looking at theirs. She hovered the curser over the follow button on Marius’, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was too embarrassed. She hadn’t realised they were so concerned with what went on outside of their own lives.  She clicked through a few links Marius had posted and read with a growing fascination about the new cuts being made to libraries and disability funds, the cover-ups and media silences, the accounts of embarrassment and even assault at the hands of the police department. She’d had no idea. How foolish her own worries about falling behind in her violin playing seemed now. What did her concerns matter compared to the woman who had been arrested, strip-searched, mocked, and held overnight in a crowded cell for no reason? 

Were they all involved in this sort of thing? Not Chetta, surely, or Grantaire. No, definitely not Grantaire. 

An email notification appeared on her screen, and she broke into a surprised smile when it told her that Courfeyrac had followed her. _He_ had found and followed _her_. So he at least obviously liked her even though she didn’t know about the things they did and had never even thought of attending a protest or a rally for anything at all. It was a small gesture, but incredibly heartening, and she only hesitated for a moment before following him back. 

Later that day, Marius did the same, and Cosette felt like she could positively float away with happiness. 

When her father called, she took huge pleasure in telling him that she was finally making some new friends. He congratulated her, sounding both proud and relieved, and asked (as always) when she was coming home to visit. 

“Soon, papa,” she laughed and looked at her calendar. “Before Christmas, at least.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

“Me too.” 

On Wednesday, Marius invited her back to the big flat. Combeferre was cooking, he said. If she brought a little money to contribute, she was more than welcome to share the feast. She agreed instantly – it wasn’t like her planned meal of scrambled eggs on toast was particularly appealing – and met him on the same corner as she had before. 

They went straight to the big flat this time, meeting Grantaire and Bahorel on the way as they came out of a shop, both of them holding bags of cans and bottles. “We were elected pack mules,” Bahorel grumbled. 

“Here.” Cosette grabbed two of the bags from him, and Marius took a couple from Grantaire as well. 

“Thanks.” Bahorel rolled his shoulders and jerked his head with a wide grin. “Shall we?” 

The big flat smelled wonderful. Combeferre was wearing a pirate hat – they couldn’t find a chef’s hat, Marius explained – and busily keeping an eye on several pots on the stove and two dishes in the oven. “Bahorel!” he shouted as soon as they got in. “Heel!” 

Bahorel grumbled. “I’m not your pet monkey!” 

“Put an apron on.” 

“I’m not cooking!” 

“Cosette!” Chetta’s hair was down this evening, falling in long tousled waves past her shoulders. “You made it. Bahorel has a natural gift in the kitchen,” she added in a whisper, “but he refuses to acknowledge it.” 

“Cooking is a woman’s job!” Bahorel protested as Combeferre dragged him over to the stove and smacked him sharply over the back of the head. 

“Don’t be an idiot. Keep an eye on the stew.” 

Cosette bit her lip to keep from laughing as Bahorel tasted it, apparently on autopilot, and scowled before reaching around Combeferre to grab the pepper and shake some in. 

“Natural gift,” Chetta muttered, and laughed. 

Marius took her hand and led her over to the large sofa. They were watching some sort of news program on the small TV, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Jehan leaning forward intently. Someone on the screen said something and Bossuet cried out in outrage. “Did he really just say that?” 

“Of course he did,” Enjolras said tightly. “He thinks he can get away with anything now.” 

“He’s not wrong.” Jehan scowled and leaned back. “Grantaire, where’s the booze? I need a drink.” 

“What did your last slave die of?” Grantaire waltzed over with a wine bottle in his hand, swigging directly from it. 

“I drowned him in the lake.” 

“I hope you’re not thinking of pouring a drink for anyone else out of that.” Joly gave Grantaire’s wine bottle a suspicious look. 

“Calm down, jolly-japes,” Grantaire smiled lazily. “This is all for me.” 

Bossuet grinned. “Of course it is.” 

“Shut up.” Jehan flapped a hand at them. “I can’t hear. Turn it up, Enjolras.” 

Enjolras did so, and Cosette perched on the arm of the sofa to watch curiously. A portly white-haired man was being interviewed by someone off-screen, and if the expressions on the boys’ faces were anything to go by, he wasn’t a likeable character. 

“And what do you think of the foreign policy regarding the latest export taxes?” asked the interviewer. 

The boys made sounds of disgust. “She won’t ask him about the cuts,” Enjolras shook his head. “Not a chance.” 

“You care entirely too much.” Grantaire leaned over the back of the sofa and sighed. 

“And you don’t care at all,” Bossuet countered. 

Grantaire pulled a face. “I care, to a point. I just don’t see why I should get all worked up about something I have no hope of changing.” 

“Grantaire, if you have nothing useful to contribute, go and drink somewhere else,” Enjolras said acidly. Cosette glanced around, startled, but no one else seemed surprised by such a harsh rebuke. 

“I paid to eat, and you’ll hear me whether I talk here or in the kitchen,” Grantaire pointed out. 

“Then don’t speak.” 

Grantaire mimed zipping his lips, but he didn’t look at all hurt. In fact, he smiled as he took another gulp from his wine bottle. 

They continued to watch the news program while Combeferre bullied Bahorel around the kitchen, making sure to smack his head every time he said something offensive. The air grew warmer and heavier with the smell of food to come, and Cosette’s stomach rumbled. Éponine arrived late, grumbling about having too much to read, and it seemed like hours passed before Combeferre finally shouted, “Places, everybody!” 

There was a bit of a mad scramble as everyone left the sofa and ran to get a plate, and Combeferre piled each one high with food. Stew, roasted vegetables, some sort of pasta bake, and even roast chicken. “How did you do so much?” she asked as he ladled stew onto her plate. 

He grinned. “Practice. I cook a bit at home, and I just make more here. It’s never enough, you’ll see. They’re like starving dogs.” 

“Woof,” Courfeyrac deadpanned, holding his plate out. “More pasta, please.” 

“Only if there’s some left at the end.” 

“I’ll buy you a drink when we’re next out.” 

“No exceptions.” 

“Damn you.” 

“Move along.” Combeferre batted at Courfeyrac’s shoulder cheerfully. 

They ate off their laps, the table being too small for more than five of them to sit around, and they shouted and argued over each other constantly around the food in their mouths, the subject being the interview of the man they had been watching on TV. Cosette listened in silence, interested, but far too intimidated to dare airing an opinion of her own. 

Feuilly finished first, and dashed into his room to return with a bag of material and a sewing kit. No one else batted an eye as he spread bright scraps around and sewed as he continued to add his voice to the din, but Cosette couldn’t look away. At last, in a moment’s quiet, she asked, “What are you making?” 

Feuilly’s expression brightened. “Right now, I’m making bags. Do you like it?” 

“I think it’s beautiful.” Now that she knew what it was meant to be, she could clearly see the outline of it on his lap. “I haven’t looked at your shop yet. Do you just make bags?” 

“Does he hell,” Bahorel muttered. “Remember the bookends? And the fans?” 

“The smell of wood shavings lingered for weeks,” Combeferre agreed. 

“I make whatever takes my fancy,” Feuilly said haughtily. “At the moment, it’s bags. I’ve moved on from purses. Before that were necklaces.” Cosette’s fingers ached to touch the fabric, and Feuilly obviously noticed, because he jerked his head. “Come see.” The others started talking around them again. 

He’d made the inside of the bag already, and now he was decorating the outside with different bits of pretty materials. “Where do you get all of these?” Cosette dipped her hands into the plastic bag of scraps and pulled out felt, polyester, crushed velvet… 

“Scrap shop,” Feuilly smiled and pushed a hand through his tightly curled hair. “I was there a couple of weeks ago and these bits and pieces caught my eye…before I know it, I’m making purses and bags.” 

“How long will this take you?” She gestured to the one he was working on. 

He shrugged with one shoulder. “I’ve made five good ones, two botched. The insides I do with my sewing machine, so it’s this outside stuff that takes more time. I’d say…I don’t know, maybe four hours a bag? I get faster the more practise I get though, so I might be down to three by the time I get onto the last one. I’ve finished two already.” 

“Can I see them?” 

“Of course!” he beamed and shifted his work to one side while he bounded into his bedroom. 

“He’s actually pretty good at this stuff,” Bossuet said, “but his room’s like a workshop.” 

“His bracelets were very good,” Chetta nodded. “The necklaces weren’t to my taste. The earrings were downright tacky.” 

Feuilly heard that as he came out and pulled a face. “People must like them, because they’ve been selling fine.” 

Chetta threw her hands up and said nothing. Feuilly came over to Cosette and knelt in front of the sofa, spreading his finished bags out on the cushion. One immediately caught her eye – he’d stitched tiny shells and metal beads in spiralled patterns on the outside, and the straps were made of twisted felt in blue and red. 

“How much is this?” she asked immediately, fingertips brushing the shells. 

Feuilly looked delighted. “I was going to sell them for twenty five euro each.” 

“Bloody extortionate!” Grantaire shouted. 

Éponine pulled him down onto the sofa. “Shut up, you idiot.” 

Cosette grabbed her handbag, glad that she had thought to bring it, and pulled out her wallet. She counted out the money and handed it to Feuilly before unpacking everything in her old bag and putting it into her new one. It was perfect, like it had been made for her. “It’s amazing,” she beamed, standing up and looking down at it slung over her shoulder, resting against her hip. The metal beads shone in the light, and she wondered how long it must have taken Feuilly to stitch each one carefully in place. 

“At least someone appreciates my work.” Feuilly gave Grantaire a pointed look. He just grinned and raised his glass. He had moved onto another bottle, but decanted it into glasses at Joly’s insistence. 

Marius walked her home again, holding her hand, and when they reached her door he looked down at her, obviously hoping for another kiss. Cosette leaned up, but couldn’t really concentrate on the moment. Her head was full of thoughts about that evening. She wanted to look at Feuilly’s shop, and more of the links Enjolras and the others had tweeted. She needed to practise her music – she’d neglected the flute and piano so far this week in an effort to catch up with her violin. 

“Goodnight,” she said when they stopped kissing. Marius smiled. 

“Goodnight.” 

It didn’t occur to her that having her mind wander during a kiss was probably not a good thing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Music and Drama departments bond, and so do Cosette and Éponine.

The Music and Drama departments were combining, all year groups, to present a sort of display of talent. Mostly in order to attract prospective students, but it had also been incorporated into the marking criteria to count for a percentage of their final grades. Éponine couldn’t decide if she was pleased or annoyed about this yet. 

She had been put in a group with two other students, neither quite friends, but more than acquaintances. It was difficult not to make friends with people in Drama. You had to get pretty close to everyone else, after all. She was slightly marked out as one of the few who wasn’t a full Drama student. Not totally devoted to the art. She was far from unwelcome, but she wasn’t often invited to the little social gatherings that occurred between the full-time Drama students. The proper actors. 

But this presentation of talent was a collaborative effort. The techies were part of it too, of course, and the Art department as well to a lesser degree (sets didn’t design, assemble, or paint themselves), but it was mostly Music and Drama. Which meant, Éponine realised on the day of the first big meeting, Cosette and her. 

The smaller girl was on the other side of the room with the Music students, listening attentively, but she looked around a moment after Éponine spotted her, as if she could sense that she was being observed. When she saw Éponine, she broke into a sunny smile and probably would have waved if the meeting hadn’t been in full swing. Afterwards, there was a sort of mingling – some clever person had thought that it would be a good idea for the students from different departments to have the opportunity to at least learn each other’s names before being thrown into the deep end – and Cosette wound her way through the crowd to Éponine in an instant. 

“I completely forgot you did Drama!” she gushed, Feuilly’s bag swinging at her side. “I suppose I got it into my head that you just did English, because of all the reading you do.” 

“You mean all the complaining I do about the reading I haven’t done,” Éponine smirked, and Cosette laughed. 

“Do you know what you’re doing yet?” 

“No idea. I’m in a group with a couple of others – there’s Pierre there, and Roxanne’s wandered off somewhere. We’re given a list of options, I think, and it’s basically first come, first serve. Hopefully we’ll get something that isn’t too embarrassing.” 

Cosette grinned wickedly. “What’s the worst thing you’ve had to do on stage?” 

“Cry,” Éponine answered without hesitation. “I couldn’t for ages, and then it suddenly clicked and it was just awful. Everyone thought I was really good, and I just couldn’t stop. My face went all red and blotchy, there was snot…I’m not painting the best of pictures right now, am I?” 

“At least it’s honest.” Cosette laughed. “Have you ever forgotten your lines?” 

“No,” Éponine’s lips twitched at the memory, “but I’ve mixed them up badly on purpose to throw someone else off.” 

Cosette covered a shocked smile with one hand. “Why?” 

Éponine pulled a face. “It’s complicated. I went along with this guy’s crap until our final performance – the one we were being marked on – and then I made him mess up. It was very satisfying at the time.” 

“Did it effect his grade?” Cosette’s smile had faded, and Éponine wished suddenly that she hadn’t said anything. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. 

Cosette bit her lip. “Was he being horrible to you or something?” 

“Or something.” Éponine looked away. “We didn’t get on. Have you ever forgotten the words to a song?” 

Cosette looked for a moment as if she might pursue the subject, but to Éponine’s relief, she let it go. “A few times. Only once was really bad – in my second singing exam, I just completely blanked. It was awful.” 

“How did you do? For the exam, I mean?” 

“Failed the whole thing.” Cosette smiled ruefully. “I actually ran out of the room. Apparently it was very theatrical.” Éponine snorted, and Cosette pretended to swipe at her arm. “I was only twelve!” 

“Did you try again?” 

“Of course. Once I’d stopped crying about it, which took a while, according to my father.” 

“He wasn’t upset?” 

Cosette shook her head, blonde curls flying. “Oh no. He was probably very sympathetic.” 

“You don’t remember?” 

“I think it was so traumatic I’ve blanked most of it out.” She laughed, and Éponine couldn’t help laughing with her. It was infectious. 

“Do you know what you’re doing for this thing?” 

Cosette shook her head again. “No idea. I might be in the big band, I might be doing a solo, I might be with one of the drama groups. I don’t know.” 

“I suppose you could do anything, since you play so many instruments.” 

“Jack of all trades and master of none,” Cosette agreed cheerfully. People were beginning to filter out of the hall now, and they began to follow them almost unconsciously. “Do you take the métro?” 

“Nah,” Éponine shook her head. “Couldn’t afford a pass, so I only bother if I’m late or if the weather’s really shit.” She was used to walking everywhere by now - she'd been getting around on foot her whole life. 

“Can I walk with you?” 

Éponine smiled, surprised. “Sure. You don’t have to ask.” 

Cosette shrugged, but hefted her bag higher up her shoulder and grinned. “I had to get a pass, really,” she said as they emerged into the chilly sunshine. “It’s impossible to carry a flute, violin, and guitar case at the same time.” 

“You have to bring them all in at once?” 

“Well, not very often,” she admitted. “I thought it was going to be all the time, but it isn’t really. Usually it’s only one at a time, but I got the pass at the beginning of last year, and I’m just too lazy to change my ways now.” 

Éponine grinned. “The boys would say you’re an example of the blinded bourgeoisie.” 

Cosette bit her lip. “I keep seeing all these things they post online, and it makes me feel so guilty for not knowing about it all.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Éponine waved a hand. “They’re a bit intense, and they mean well, but when they start getting a bit overexcited I tend to ignore them. I agree with it all on principle, but I’m nowhere near as devoted to the cause. I think Enjolras would be perfectly willing to lay down his life for what he believes in, but I’m a bit more selfish.” 

“He’s very…” Cosette hesitated, and Éponine smirked. 

“Cold? Serious? Driven?” 

“Concentrated.” Cosette decided. “Like it’s all or nothing.” 

Éponine hummed agreement. “That’s a good way of putting it. The others can be just as focused though. It’s just that they’ve each got their specialist areas, so to speak, while Enjolras somehow finds the time and energy to embrace it all.” 

“What does Marius care about?” Cosette asked shyly. 

“He hasn’t talked your ear off about it?” Éponine laughed. “He must really like you. Marius gets righteously angry about the treatment of the poor – the downtrodden being pushed down further. Get him started on that, and he can go for days. He’s surprisingly well-informed about it too. I guess it’s just strange because he can be such a dreamer at the same time. It’s a miracle he manages to get anything done.” 

“Courfeyrac?” Cosette seemed to enjoy quizzing her. The air was warm in the sunlight, pavement falling away under their shoes, and they turned a corner onto a street shaded by tall trees. Broad leaves cast greenish shadows on Cosette’s pale skin, and Éponine smiled. 

“Similar to Marius, but more concerned with people who have even less hope of helping themselves. Older people, the disabled, child carers, people with mental illnesses…you know.” 

“Grantaire?” 

Éponine laughed. “Nothing.” 

“What?” 

“Grantaire’s the odd one out. He doesn’t believe in any of it. He’s a complete cynic. Thinks that humans are essentially a doomed race, and if you push him he can cite all kinds of examples.” 

“So…” Cosette frowned. “I don’t get it. Why…” 

“Why does he hang around if he doesn’t give a damn?” Éponine shrugged. “At least partly because of his massive crush on our mighty leader.” 

“Oh,” Cosette nodded slowly, “Chetta said something about that the other night…that Grantaire was in love with Enjolras?” 

Éponine screwed up her face. “It’s  more complicated than that. I haven’t got a clue, to be honest. Maybe it’s just a platonic crush. Who knows? Grantaire won’t go into details and I’d rather swim with sharks on my period than ask Enjolras about anything vaguely romantic.” 

Cosette snorted with laughter. “He is a bit scary.” 

“Another good word for him. But I think Grantaire mostly hangs around because he’s just good friends with everyone now, and he doesn’t want to leave. Which is fine by me – he’s a nice guy.” 

“What about the others?” Cosette asked. “What are their areas of interest?” 

Éponine told her about all of the other boys and was taken by surprise when Cosette asked about her as well. “Me?” She frowned and pursed her lips. “I don’t really know. It’s a bit different for me. Most of the boys haven’t ever actually been in the situations of the people they’re trying to help, but…well, I wasn’t joking when I said my parents robbed their customers blind. A lot of dodgy stuff goes down in their pub, and I’m not exactly a shining beacon of virtue myself.” Whereas Cosette seemed to be an angel in mind as well as appearance. If she wasn’t so damn likeable, it would be incredibly annoying. 

Cosette didn’t push, thankfully. “What about Chetta?” 

Éponine hummed. “Chetta’s a bit of a mix. She can get really passionate about some things, but then sometimes she’ll be totally unconcerned. It drives a few of the boys up the wall, but Joly and Bossuet seem to be okay with it. She likes coming to the rallies and stuff though. Do you want me to walk you back to yours?” she asked as they reached the point where she would have to split off. Cosette rolled her eyes good-naturedly. 

“I’m not that weak and helpless. I’ll see you around. More, now that we’re doing this recital thing.” 

“Yeah,” Éponine smiled. “See you later.” 

Cosette waved over her shoulder before turning, hair catching the sun and footsteps light on the pavement. Éponine watched her walk away for a few seconds before she went up the road to hers, leaving Cosette to walk back to her single-bedroom flat alone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cosette hangs out with Joly and Bossuet.

Cosette wasn’t strongly religious, despite having attended a Catholic school for most of her life, but she still thanked God, Jesus, and Mary when she read the email that told her that she was going to accompany one of the smaller dramatic groups in their performance of a selected scene from Macbeth, and one of the group’s members was Éponine Thénardier. She couldn’t have prayed for a better outcome. 

She was in town, celebrating with a bit of extra shopping. Her father’s birthday was approaching, and she was looking at several things. He was infuriatingly difficult to buy for, always saying that he would be happy no matter what she got him, and that all he really wanted was to see her on the day. Impossible, really. 

She had just come out of the bookshop, having flicked through several coffee table books, when a voice called her name. She turned just as Joly and Bossuet appeared either side of her and swept her along with them. “We thought it was you,” Joly grinned. “It’s the hair.” 

“And Feuilly’s bag,” Bossuet added. “It’s unmistakable.” 

“That’s why I bought it,” she smiled, pleased that they seemed so glad to see her. “It stands out.” 

“Is that what girls like?” Joly asked. 

“We have to get Chetta a birthday present, apparently,” Bossuet explained, at Cosette’s quizzical look. “A big joint one or two little ones. She told us this morning.” 

“You all live together?” Cosette tried to remember where Bossuet lived. She was sure Chetta had said that only she and Joly lived together. 

“Might as well.” Joly nudged Bossuet behind Cosette’s back. 

Bossuet pushed him back gently. “Tsk. I’m technically homeless,” he explained. “I get my mail sent to the big flat, and kind of float between it, the little house, and Joly’s. Jehan calls it urban nomadism.” 

“Romantic nonsense.” Joly sniffed. “You’re just an unusually clean hobo.” 

Cosette stared at him. “You don’t have anywhere to live?” 

“Oh no!” Bossuet patted her arm. “I have three places to live! I just don’t tie myself down to one of them.” 

“You make it sound as if this was a personal choice,” Joly said dryly. “He tried to get a place with some other students on his course over the summer, but it fell through. Then he tried getting into student housing, but that didn’t work out either. In the end, he just didn’t have time, and now everywhere’s taken.” 

“I’d also rather not live alone,” Bossuet added. “I’d be terribly lonely. I much prefer being around people.” 

“Extrovert that you are.” 

“Quite so.” 

Cosette thought of her own tiny flat and sighed inwardly. “Well you’re welcome at mine any time,” she told him. “I’ve got a decent sofa.” 

Bossuet grinned. “That’s alright. I’m supernaturally unlucky, but everything always turns out okay for me in the end.” 

“I mean it,” she insisted, getting her phone out. “What’s your number? I don’t think I have anyone’s except Marius’, actually.” 

“We’ll give you everyone’s and you can just send a mass text,” Joly nodded, smiling. “You’re quite community minded, aren’t you? Why didn’t you say so before?” 

“You mean at the big flat?” She shook her head. “You were all shouting at each other so well, I didn’t want to disturb the rhythm.” They both laughed and she looked up, surprised, then pleased. perhaps she _was_ funny. 

“You know where we are?” Joly looked around as if he’d only just noticed that they were outside. 

“Where?” Bossuet glanced up. “Oh!” 

“The Corinthe is our favourite tavern,” Joly took Cosette’s arm and steered her in the direction of a green-fronted pub with a sign dangling above the door. “You have to try the Tilter.” 

“The what?” 

“Is it even late enough for cocktails?” Bossuet asked. 

Joly waved a hand. “It’s nearly six, it’s fine.” 

A Tilter, it turned out, was the tavern’s specialty drink. Cosette wasn’t sure what was in it, but it didn’t taste too bad. It was the aftertaste that got her coughing. “Got a bit of a kick to it,” Bossuet laughed. “Keep going and it gets better.” 

She doubted that, but she couldn’t very well refuse to finish it after they’d bought it for her. While she sipped (and spluttered), they ordered beer and chattered away. Cosette realised halfway through her third Tilter that they were obviously stronger than they looked, because she had to lean against the bar to stop herself slipping off the stool, and she couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “You guys are so nice,” she said finally. “I’ll pay you back for the drinks.” 

“Nah,” Joly waved his hand dismissively (a common gesture of his, she had discovered). “You’ve given Bossuet yet another place to rest his head. It’s on us.” 

“You’re all such nice people,” she continued wistfully. “You two are just…best friends, y’know?” 

“I can’t get rid of him,” Joly clinked his glass against Bossuet’s with a grin. 

“You’re all such good friends with each other,” she sighed, finishing her Tilter. “Can I tell you something? It’s not really a secret, but it’s not _not_ a secret.” 

“Do tell.” Bossuet leaned his chin in his hands and wiggled his eyebrows. 

“I haven’t had a best friend since I was nine,” she confessed. “That’s actually quite pathetic when I say it out loud. And living on your own is lonely,” she added. “I mean, it’s kind of good because I don’t have to worry so much about other people when I’m practising, but it’s still lonely.” 

Joly and Bossuet exchanged frowns, and Joly touched her arm gently. “You know you’ve got us now, don’t you? I’d call you my friend.” 

“Definitely,” Bossuet nodded. 

Cosette smiled. “See? You’re both so lovely. All of you, you’re so lovely. I wish I’d met you last year.” 

“Didn’t you have a good time last year?” Joly kept his hand on her arm. She shrugged. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare. I just didn’t make friends with the other girls in my flat, and when they all got a place together I didn’t have any other friends close enough, so I ended up living on my own. It’s not that bad though. Like I said – I don’t have to worry about noise so much.” 

“If you say so.” Bossuet got up and stretched. “Well, I’m out of money. What say we go back to yours, my jolly friend?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Joly swiped at him, smiling. “Come on, Cosette. You can stay over too if you want.” 

“There won’t be room for both of us,” Cosette grinned at Bossuet. “It’s fine. I’ve got some work I need to do anyway. Did you know I’m going to be working with Éponine for this uni show thing?” 

“We did _not_ , tell us more. Éponine never talks about her theatre stuff.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Éponine has an unwelcome realisation, Courfeyrac needs to revise, and Grantaire buys the alcohol.

Éponine muttered her lines to herself while Roxanne and Pierre figured out their movements. There wasn’t much they had to do, really. The scene was less than five minutes long. Shakespeare. How had she ended up doing Shakespeare, and out of all of his plays, why did it have to be Macbeth? 

It wasn’t that she was suspicious or anything – she just thought it was boring. Still, what the department wanted, the department got. At least her group had been put with Cosette. She caught the other girl’s eye across the room and smiled. Cosette returned it brightly. She was going to accompany them on the violin, and she had also been selected to perform a solo piece. She wouldn’t tell Éponine what it was, only that she was accompanying herself on the piano, which Éponine took to mean that she was going to be singing. 

She wanted to know more than she let on, but she didn’t push. 

“Okay,” Pierre called, and Éponine snapped herself out of her reverie and went over. They had decided that she would remain stationary while the other two moved around her. It was mostly because they were both quite a bit taller than her, so it produced the most symmetrical result. Cosette lifted her violin to her chin and smiled. 

“Ready.” 

“On three,” the techie, Jean-Baptiste, lifted his hand. “One…two…” Their miniature stage went dark. “Three!” 

A shaft of light illuminated Éponine at the same moment as Cosette played a long, low note on her violin. Once they had it all figured it, they needed to film it and email it to the show’s directors for their approval. 

Pierre spun in from her left, and Éponine started to speak. 

After the rehearsal (if it could be called that), Cosette walked back with her again. Éponine teased her for being so lazy when her violin weighed so little, and Cosette poked fun at the regional accents Éponine and the others had attempted for the scene. In the end they had given up and stuck with their normal voices. It was another sunny day – bright and deceptively cold. Cosette had plaited her hair and pinned it up, a couple of curls escaping to frame her face. 

Éponine pushed down the urge to reach out and tuck them behind her ears, and immediately looked away, her heart sinking. She managed to make it to her road and watched Cosette continue walking, hair like a halo in the sun. At the corner, Cosette looked over her shoulder and waved, and Éponine felt both glad that she had looked back and sick to her stomach. 

She _could not_ like Cosette. Just thinking it was terrible. She was with Marius. And besides that – she was with _Marius_ , who was a _boy_. Cosette was _straight_. 

Éponine remembered Musichetta telling her that sexuality tended to be more fluid for girls than boys, and she groaned out loud, good mood gone. When she got in, Courfeyrac was in the living room, sitting on the floor with dozens of sheets of paper spread out around him. Pieces of coloured string linked some together, criss-crossing each other and making a sort of multi-coloured web of connections. It looked like a cross between an art project and a crime scene. 

“I’m revising,” he explained, anxiety in the lines of his forehead. “I shouldn’t’ve left it so late. Are you alright?” he added, frowning. She supposed she must look quite upset. 

“I’m…” She almost considered telling him, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Fine. I’m fine. Tea?” 

“Could you do me a coffee?” he pleaded. “I think I’ll have to pull an all-nighter.” 

“You don’t have a test tomorrow, do you?” She frowned, going into the kitchen. 

“Two days from now. I’ve really fucked up, Ponine. I’ve felt like I’ve been productive, but I haven’t done anything at all.”  

“Been running around with Enjolras too much,” she said, putting the kettle on and getting two mugs out. 

“But _he_ manages.” Courfeyrac looked ready to tear his hair out when Éponine came back in, leaning against the doorframe while the kettle boiled. “And what we do is so much more important than this stupid degree.” 

“You love your degree.” Éponine rolled her eyes. 

He scowled at the mess of paper around him. “Not right now I don’t.” 

“But your degree isn’t unimportant, y’know?” The kettle clicked, and she went back into the kitchen to pour. “You’ve got to be a bit selfish now and then.” 

“I like Anthropology,” he agreed from the other room, “and I love studying people, but…the degree’s just a means to an end, really.” 

Éponine sighed dramatically. “You are all so dumb.” She just didn’t have the blind passion for the ‘cause’ that they did. She’d learned early on that she needed to be selfish to get anything, or people would just walk all over her. 

“At least I’ll have a career when I graduate.” 

She grinned despite herself. “Fuck you. I’ll give you decaf.” 

“Don’t you _dare_.” 

She gave him his coffee and took her tea upstairs, uneasy mood returning once she was alone again. Grantaire and Marius were out, probably at lectures. 

God, what the hell was wrong with her? First Marius, and now Marius’ girlfriend? Who was she going to develop a crush on next? Musichetta? 

She groaned, putting the tea on her desk and flopping face-down onto her bed. It wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped it would be, and she groaned again. “ _Fuck._ ” She was so incredibly stupid. 

Her phone trilled in her pocket, and she turned her head to the side so she could breathe as she fished it out and glared at the screen. 

Grantaire: JD is on offer. Should I get that or my normal shit whiskey? 

Éponine sighed and typed out a reply with one hand. 

Éponine: Treat yourself. Do me a favour and get me some vodka? 

Grantaire: Drinking buddies? 

Éponine: Let’s go wild. 

Grantaire: I DON’T KNOW WHY THIS IS HAPPENING BUT I LOVE YOU. 

Éponine: Just us two, yeah? 

Grantaire: No party? :( 

Grantaire: Fine. Nbd. We can go to the park. 

Éponine pulled a face. It would be freezing if they went outside, but between that and drinking with Marius as well, she’d take the park. 

Éponine: K. See you soon. 

Grantaire: You betcha. X 

In the end, they didn’t have to go to the park, because Marius went over to Cosette’s. Courfeyrac decided to supplement his coffee with the occasional shot, and Éponine lounged on the sofa opposite Grantaire in the armchair, the two of them quizzing Courfeyrac on his Anthropology work when he asked them to. 

“Soooo…” Grantaire took a sip from his glass and levelled a serious look over the rim at Éponine. “I was gonna wait till Courfeyrac went to bed, but that’s obviously not happening –” Courfeyrac raised his coffee mug without looking and Grantaire clicked his tumbler against it. “So I’ll just ask. Why the sudden need to drown your sorrows?” 

“I can’t just want to get drunk?” Éponine scowled at the mostly-empty vodka bottle on the floor. 

“Not really your style,” Grantaire declared. “The only thing I can come up with is that you’re crushing on someone.” 

Éponine didn’t miss a beat. “Why’s that?” 

“Because last time you drank like this was last year when you were mooning over Marius.” 

“I did not _moon_.” 

“Moon, pine, yearn for – whatever.” He twisted in the chair until his legs were hanging over one arm. “My point stands.” 

“You got a crush on someone, Éponine?” Courfeyrac grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. 

“No,” she lied easily. “I’m not crushing on anyone. Top me up.” 

“I’m not your bartender,” Courfeyrac grumbled, taking her glass and pouring equal portions of vodka and coke into it, taking a swig of the vodka for himself while he was at it. 

“Yeah, a bartender wouldn’t steal his customer’s drinks,” Grantaire poked the back of Courfeyrac’s head and Éponine laughed humourlessly. 

“Tell that to my parents.” 

“Tell me which pub is theirs and I will,” Courfeyrac’s eyes gleamed. 

Éponine glared at him. “I’ll put it in my will. In code. You can figure it out when I’m dead.” 

“You’re no fun.” 

“Aren’t you meant to be working?” Grantaire poked his head again, making Courfeyrac groan. 

“Don’t remind me.” 

“Too late,” Éponine sang, “get to work, boy.” 

“I hate you both.” 

“Bullshit.” Grantaire poured a little whiskey into the remains of Courfeyrac’s coffee. “We’re plying you with alcohol. You should thank us on bended knee.” 

Courfeyrac laughed. “Really? Didn’t know you swung that way, R, but if you insist on demanding payment for your booze…” 

Grantaire snorted and shoved Courfeyrac away as he leaned in teasingly. “Get off, you nympho.” 

“I thought nymphomaniacs had to be women?” Éponine frowned. 

“They do.” Courfeyrac fell back into the middle of his mess of paper and coloured string. “The male version is satyriasis. Makes sense.” 

“Why?” 

“Satyrs and nymphs? Sex-crazy half-humans? Did neither of you ever do Greek myths at school?” 

“Sure.” Grantaire finished his tumbler and motioned for Courfeyrac to pour him another as he leaned his shoulders and head over the arm of the chair lazily. “Minotaur in a maze. Mount Olympus. The gospel truth.” 

Éponine snorted. “That’s a Hercules song.” 

“Which is Greek mythology!” Grantaire pointed at her and blew a kiss to Courfeyrac when he handed him his glass. “Cheers. And I think you mean _Hunk_ -ules.” 

After that, it shouldn’t really have been too much of a surprise when she next looked at the clock and realised that they’d spent the last two hours watching Disney songs on YouTube. When she mentioned that it was half past three, Courfeyrac looked like he was going to cry. 

“I was gonna work!” he moaned, putting his face in his hands. “I had it all planned out!” 

“Go to bed, you tit,” Grantaire waved an unconcerned hand. He’d finished his first bottle of whiskey and was halfway through the second. “I’ll revise for you!” 

“Don’t be an arse,” Courfeyrac sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. Éponine pulled herself back onto the sofa and leaned forward to dig her fingers into his messy curls as well. 

“Chill out,” she said as he came to curl against the sofa, humming with approval. “You’ve still got two days.” 

“So much work,” he groaned, and closed his eyes. “Please don’t stop.” 

She grinned and added another hand, dragging her fingernails against his scalp the way he liked. He shivered under her ministrations, his shoulders visibly relaxing.  “Here’s the deal, boyo. I do this for a little while longer and then you go to bed.” 

“But so much work,” he protested, then fell silent as she scratched long lines from his crown to the back of his neck. “Mmmm.” 

Grantaire laughed. “You were saying?” 

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac mumbled, practically melting. 

Éponine met Grantaire’s eyes over his head and grinned. “You go to bed,” she repeated. “You can try getting up early tomorrow, but it’s probably _not_ gonna happen, lezbehonest.” 

“ _Some_ one’s pished,” Grantaire sang. Éponine stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Look who’s talking.” 

“Get me up before eleven,” Courfeyrac muttered, the tension draining out of his limbs as Éponine kept massaging his head. “Still got loads to do.” 

“Set an alarm.” Éponine scratched from his forehead to his neck, making his head loll. 

“Kay,” he breathed, obviously ready to fall asleep then and there. 

“Good boy,” Grantaire snickered, and Courfeyrac lifted a languid hand to flip him off. 

Éponine kept it up for another five minutes or so before dragging Courfeyrac upstairs and shoving him into bed. Her fingers smelled of his shampoo, and she sighed as Grantaire started singing to himself downstairs. 

She couldn’t tell them. She didn’t need to. This was a stupid crush, and it would fade soon enough. 

Like her crush on Marius had faded? She met her own eyes in the mirror as she went into her bedroom and sighed. She’d been utterly consumed last year, and then painfully confused after she’d slept with him. Coming to terms with her sexuality hadn’t been the easiest thing in the world (she still wasn’t sure how to tell her parents, not that they would probably care), but Courfeyrac and Grantaire had helped her then. Jehan a little too. 

“I don’t owe them anything,” she told her reflection. And telling anyone else would make this thing horribly real. She could keep it to herself for as long as it took to fade. It would be fine. 

The room spun slightly as she scrubbed her make-up off, and continued to tilt as she lay in bed, waiting for sleep. Getting drunk hadn’t even put a dent in her problems. Which was just fucking typical, wasn’t it?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cosette breaks up with Marius, and there are tears.

Cosette caught the eye of her reflection as she passed the mirror by the door and bit her lip unhappily, wondering when Marius would get here. “You’re a terrible person,” she told herself quietly. 

She’d read girly magazines and online agony aunt columns, and she’d talked to Chetta when her courage had failed, but none of that really prepared her for the real act of breaking up with someone. Breaking up with Marius. 

She’d known it had to be done when he came over to hers to watch a movie the other night. They’d kissed a little, and Cosette’s mind had just been everywhere but with Marius. She wasn’t stupid. She knew it wasn’t supposed to be like that. But she’d been too timid to tell him then. He’d been so happy. But of course, he was always going to be happy right up until the moment she did tell him, so she’d just been prolonging the inevitable. 

The one upside of this whole mess was how kind and helpful Chetta had been, which meant at least one of Marius’ friends wasn’t mad that she was going to effectively break his heart. Cosette sighed and sat down. A second later she stood up again and kept pacing. She was too nervous to stay still. She’d never broken up with anyone before. Hell, she’d never had anyone to break up _with_. 

The buzzer went off suddenly, making her jump, and her heart sank to rest somewhere around her toes as she let Marius in. It didn’t take him long to reach her door. “Hi!” he grinned when she opened it, and thrust a bunch of flowers at her. “I got you something.” 

Surely stabbing herself would be less painful than this. “They’re beautiful,” she smiled weakly and took them from him. “Thank you.” 

“Are you alright?” He followed her in and closed the door behind him. 

“Um.” She put the flowers on the table and felt her lip start to tremble. “No, not really. I’m sorry.” 

“What’s the matter?” He slid round to face her, a picture of concern. “Is it your dad?” 

“No.” She tried to swallow her tears, but it was no good. “No, it’s me, Marius, I’m really sorry –” 

“What for?” He touched her shoulder and she hiccupped. 

“I feel awful,” she admitted, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Marius, I’m the worst person –” 

“What? That’s ridiculous, you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met –” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want you to think I was stringing you along or anything –” 

“Wait, what?” Marius stared at her, beginning to understand. Cosette sniffed furiously, trying to get herself under control. “You’re dumping me?” 

“No!” she cried. “I mean, well…sort of. I just hate that word.” 

“You’re breaking up with me,” he rephrased, and she started to cry. “Oh God, Cosette, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –” 

“It’s my fault,” she batted his hands away and leaned over to get a piece of kitchen towel from the roll to dab her eyes with. “I’m sorry. I really like you, Marius, I do…” 

“But you don’t want to go out with me,” he finished quietly, downcast. 

“I’m sorry.” Her make-up was probably halfway down her face by now, but she kept trying to stop crying. “I’ll understand if you hate me –” She was cut off as he hugged her, holding her tight and burying his face in her shoulder. “Marius?” 

“I’ll never hate you,” he said, muffled against her shoulder. He pulled away slowly, and she saw that his eyes were watery as well. “Could you just…did I do something wrong?” 

“No!” she gasped, grabbing his arm. “It’s not your fault. It’s just…me.” She finished lamely. All her sources had warned her not to use the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line, but clearly it was overused because it was so frequently _true_.  “I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship,” she said instead. 

“Do you want…I could wait for you?” 

She shook her head and looked at the floor. “No, no you shouldn’t. I don’t want anyone to wait for me. I’m really sorry, Marius.” 

“It’s okay.” His voice was a little raspy, and she fought the urge to start crying again. “It’s fine, really. I’ll just…I’ll go.” 

“Do you want the flowers back?” she asked quietly, hating herself. 

“No!” He shook his head as he backed away, eyes threatening to spill over. “No, they’re yours, I got them for you. Sorry. I’ll…I’ll see you around.” He slipped out without another word, and Cosette burst into tears as the door closed, going to her bag and fumbling out her phone – she’d promised to text Chetta when it was done. 

Cosette: I did it. 

Musichetta: Do you want to come over? I can kick Joly out and we can have ice-cream and cuddles. 

Cosette: Yes please. 

Musichetta: You know where we live, right? 

Cosette: Yes. I’ll be there in twenty? 

Musichetta: See you then.  

Chetta opened the door and wrapped an arm around her as she stepped inside. “Oh, honey,” she sighed. “I have, like, five different flavours of ice-cream in the kitchen. Wanna get brain freeze?” 

Cosette nodded and leaned into her gratefully. “I feel like such a bad person,” she whispered. 

“I know,” Chetta squeezed her shoulders sympathetically. “Breaking up with someone you like is the worst thing ever.” 

“You’ve done it before?” 

“Oh yeah. I’ve broken up with boys in just about every way possible, including some really nasty ones. But it’s always shitty when you actually like the guy, but you just don’t want to date them anymore. At least you two haven’t been going out for that long. These things are always worse the longer you’ve been together.” 

She’d barely been with Marius for a month. “It’s the longest I’ve ever been with anyone,” she admitted. 

“You’ve never had a boyfriend before?” Chetta sat her down at the kitchen counter and started digging around in the freezer. 

“I went to an all-girl’s school till I came here,” Cosette told her. “I never really met any boys.” 

“No girls either?” 

“No!” Cosette giggled despite herself. “I’ve always gone to Catholic schools.” 

“They’re strict on that stuff?” Chetta straightened with six tubs of ice-cream balanced in her arms. Cosette helped her unload them onto the table. 

“Very. We had a twin school for boys,” Cosette said, “and we heard about a couple of them who’d gotten together. One of them was expelled and the other one had to leave because the others bullied him so badly.” 

Chetta frowned. “Harsh.” 

Cosette nodded. “We were all pretty sheltered.” 

Chetta came to sit next to her and grinned. “You don’t need the birds and the bees talk, do you?” 

“No,” Cosette smiled, “I know how it all works. But we didn’t learn that while we were there. My dad left a book in my room.” 

“Sneaky.” 

Cosette pulled one of the tubs towards her and cracked it open. “May I?” 

“Dig in.” Chetta passed her a spoon and opened a tub of her own. “We can eat this till we’re sick and watch any kind of movie you like. I have a good selection of things to make you cry and things to make you laugh.” 

“Do you have any kid movies?” 

Chetta put an arm round her shoulders again and leaned their heads together. “You bet your adorable blonde ass I do. And plenty of tissues, so don’t worry about crying.” 

“Thanks,” Cosette whispered. 

Chetta pressed an ice-cream-cold kiss to her temple. “Any time.” 

They watched _Winnie the Pooh’s Grand Adventure_ , then _Bridge to Terabithia_ (which made them both sob uncontrollably), and _Where the Wild Things Are_ (which also made them sob uncontrollably). At some point, Joly came home and lifted a silent hand of greeting before slipping away upstairs. Cosette let Chetta persuade her into sleeping over, borrowing some of her pyjamas and unfolding the sofa bed. They slept downstairs together, and Cosette didn’t feel like she was imposing by snuggling close to Chetta’s warmth and falling asleep on her shoulder. She’d never had a friend who was willing to let her eat half her stash of ice-cream and cry for almost an hour straight. 

Falling asleep in the bed Bossuet usually claimed, Cosette hoped she wouldn’t have to lose such friends again as soon as she’d found them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Éponine comforts Marius, goes to visit Cosette and Musichetta, and there is some girl talk.

“OHHHHHHHHHHHH!” 

Éponine looked at the floor and raised an eyebrow. She braced herself and turned in her chair as Courfeyrac came thundering up the stairs and barged into her room without knocking. “This had better be good,” she snarled, brandishing a pen at him. “I’m working.” 

“Marius and Cosette just broke up,” he told her breathlessly. 

Éponine froze. “Come again?” 

“Marius and Cosette,” Courfeyrac’s eyes were wide, “just broke up.” 

Éponine stood up immediately. “Details! Who broke up with who? Who told you? What the hell happened?” 

“Who do you think broke up with who?” He arched an eyebrow. At her scowl, he held his hands up. “Alright! Cosette did the dumping. Today, apparently – Joly just texted me. Cosette’s round theirs eating ice-cream with Chetta. Or something. No idea where Marius is.” 

“Do you know why she broke up with him?” 

“Nope.” 

“You tried calling him?” 

“On it.” He pulled his phone out and they both waited as he rang Marius. “Voicemail,” he said after a moment, frowning. “Guess he doesn’t want to talk.” 

“He’ll come back when he’s ready.” Éponine sat down again, mind racing. Cosette had broken up with Marius. Cosette didn’t want to go out with Marius. Cosette was single. 

Single and probably _upset_ , and not in the mood for propositions from other girls, Christ, why did she have such a horrible brain? 

“Éponine?” 

“I’m not going over,” she decided out loud. 

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. “Good, because Marius is meant to be our bro, and bros come before attractive ladies.” They’d banned the word ‘ho’ last year because of its derogatory nature. 

“Exactly.” She nodded and fished her own phone out of her pocket. “Have you told Grantaire yet?” 

“I only found out about ten seconds ago, give me a chance!” 

“I’m calling him.” Courfeyrac lingered in the doorway as Grantaire’s phone rang. When he picked up, she could hear the unmistakable background noise of a bar. “What the fuck, R? It’s like –” She checked her laptop screen. “It’s not even four yet!” 

“It’s always happy hour somewhere,” he said snootily. “What’s up?” 

“Cosette broke up with Marius.” 

Grantaire spluttered. “ _What?_ ” 

“Right? She dumped him today – he’s not answering his phone, and Cosette’s over at Joly and Chetta’s.” 

“Fucking hell. Okay, I’m done here, hang on.” There was a pause, and Éponine waited three seconds as he chugged whatever he was drinking. “Okay. I’ll get more booze. You want anything?” 

“Booze?” She looked at Courfeyrac, who nodded. 

“Tell him to get some beer. We can share.” 

“Courfeyrac says to get beer for sharing.” 

“Gotcha. I’m on my way.” 

“He might not be back till tonight, Grantaire.” 

“Or he might be back in five minutes. I’ll be back soon.” 

“Okay,” she smiled. “See you then.” 

“Later.” 

“He’s coming now?” Courfeyrac asked, and she nodded. 

“Getting beer on the way. And probably something extra for himself as well.” 

“He’s not allowed absinthe!” Courfeyrac pointed at her sternly, and she raised her hands. 

“Hey, do I look like I’m condoning that?” 

“Seriously, if he brings back absinthe, we’re confiscating it.” 

“Fine.” 

Grantaire returned with no absinthe, but two bottles of whiskey and one of vodka as well as the beer. They sat together in the living room for three hours until Marius came back, unsuccessfully trying to sneak in. 

“Did you honestly think we’d just carry on with our lives?” Grantaire asked incredulously, ushering Marius in and offering him a beer. “Well, apart from Courfeyrac. He’s a cold bastard." 

“My test is tomorrow,” Courfeyrac sang from the floor. “But I am extremely sympathetic,” he added seriously, meeting Marius’ eyes. “Want to talk about it?” 

“Not really.” Marius sat down and took a drink from the bottle Grantaire had given him. “I just want to warm up.” 

“Have you been outside all this time?” Éponine touched his hand and frowned. “Fuck, Marius, you’re an icicle!” 

“I can’t really feel it,” he mumbled. “How do you all know, by the way?” 

“Cosette’s at Joly and Chetta’s,” Courfeyrac explained. “He texted me. And I told Éponine, and she called Grantaire. I think everyone else knows as well.” 

“Great.” 

“They would’ve found out sooner or later,” Éponine reminded him gently. 

Marius drank and ducked his head. “I don’t know what I did.” 

“You didn’t do anything,” Grantaire said sharply. “Sometimes these things just don’t work out.” 

“How many people have you even tried to work something out with?” Marius asked. His tone was dull, but the words still cut a little. 

“None.” Grantaire shrugged and looked at Courfeyrac. “You?” 

“My first boyfriend was semi-serious,” Courfeyrac studiously avoided their eyes. “And I’ve had a girlfriend, once. And multiple friends with benefits. Nothing too serious though.” 

“I’ve had two girlfriends now,” Éponine shuffled closer to Marius on the sofa and bumped her head against his shoulder. “Over the summer, remember? Sometimes people just…don’t end up together, Marius.” 

“Amen.” Grantaire lifted his glass and knocked back the whiskey in it. 

“I really like her,” Marius whispered. “I don’t understand it. I thought she liked me back.” 

“She probably did.” Courfeyrac looked up from his notes. “But people don’t always click. I know I wouldn’t go out with half the people I sleep with.” 

“But that’s _you_ ,” Marius shook his head. “You’re always casual.” 

“Remember I told you about Adrienne?” Éponine nudged him. “The girl I met in the chocolate shop?” 

“Mmhm?” 

“We went out properly for maybe three weeks before she dumped me. I didn’t get it either, but I do now – I just wasn’t her type. We clicked as friends, and I still chat to her whenever I pop into the shop, but I wasn’t what she wanted in a girlfriend. It’s not that I was a shitty girlfriend or anything – I just wasn’t for her. And yeah,” she gestured with her bottle, “it sucks, and it’s _really_ shit, but that’s just the way things are.” 

“Accept it.” Grantaire held up his wrist, where ' _Accept it_ ' was tattooed in stark black ink.

“Listen,” Éponine put her hand on Marius’ face and pulled it around so he was looking at her, so clearly heartbroken she wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and hug him till it went away. “You can be the most delicious strawberry in the whole world,” she told him seriously, “you can be ripe and juicy and sweet, and literally the best fucking strawberry ever. But there’s still going to be someone who’s allergic to strawberries, y’know? Or someone who doesn’t like strawberries, or someone who just prefers pears or something.” 

“Who the fuck prefers pears to strawberries?” Courfeyrac snorted. Grantaire smacked him. 

“Shut up, I’m listening to the metaphor.” 

“You’re saying Cosette doesn’t like strawberries?” Marius asked miserably. 

Éponine hugged him, holding him as close as she could in the awkward sideways position. “I’m saying you just need to find someone who _loves_ strawberries, and really appreciates them. Don’t waste your strawberries on people who don’t want your delicious fruit.” 

Courfeyrac burst out laughing, and laughed harder when Éponine glared at him. “I’m sorry!” he giggled. “There are so many potential innuendos in there, I don’t even know where to start.” 

“We could start with what a shitty friend you are,” Grantaire said pointedly. 

Courfeyrac scowled. “I am not a shitty friend.” 

“Oh my god, both of you get out.” Éponine pointed at the door. “Have a smoke break.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Courfeyrac jumped to his feet and Grantaire followed. 

Éponine waited until they were outside before she turned to face Marius again. “How crap do you feel right now?” 

“On a scale of one to ten?” Marius sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “About twenty.” 

Éponine pulled a face and put an arm round his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I really thought you two were perfect for each other.” 

“Is there something wrong with me?” he asked plaintively. “You’d tell me if there was, right?” 

“Marius.” She waited until he looked at her. “I spent the majority of last year so in love with you I could hardly breathe sometimes. There is nothing wrong with you.” 

“But you’re gay,” he said tactlessly. She rolled her eyes. 

“Doesn’t change a thing. I still worshipped the ground you walked on. Listen, you’re a wonderful guy. You’re charming, you’re sweet, you’re passionate, and you’re not exactly hard on the eyes.” She grinned when he blushed. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You are one of the most eligible bachelors I know, okay?” 

“Would you judge me if I cried?” he asked quietly. 

“No.” She pulled him until his head was in her lap, and she ran fingers gently through his hair as a damp patch began to form on her skirt. When Courfeyrac appeared in the doorway, she gave him a furious glare that clearly said ‘back off’. He gestured helplessly to his work all over the floor and she shook her head firmly. He gave her an impressively soundless rant before storming away (also silently). Marius never heard a thing, and she kept stroking his hair until he shifted and sat up, his face blotchy. 

“Still not judging me, right?” he asked, voice raspy. 

“Never.” She hugged him. “Well, unless you start dressing like a teacher. Then I will judge you severely, and it will be entirely justified.” 

Marius made a sound she hoped was laughter against her shoulder and pulled away slowly. “Sorry for getting you wet.” 

She managed to keep a miraculously straight face as she replied, “Never apologise to a girl for getting her wet.” 

He did laugh then, though it was still a little teary, and she grinned. “Want some hot chocolate or something?” 

“Can we watch something?” Marius let her pull him to his feet and scrubbed at his face with long fingers. “Like, something not romantic.” 

“I nominate _Lord of the Rings!_ ” Grantaire shouted from the kitchen. 

“ _Philosopher’s Stone!_ ” Courfeyrac countered. Éponine snorted and led Marius in. 

“You are both shit. Clearly, we should watch _Toy Story_.” 

“Ooooh.” Both boys looked at each other, torn between fantasy and animation. 

“Marius?” Courfeyrac looked at him. 

“ _Toy Story_ sounds good.” Marius’ lips twitched in an attempted smile. 

“Awesome.” Éponine got the milk out of the fridge. “One of you set it up.” 

“I can’t,” Courfeyrac sighed. “I need to revise or I’ll really cock up tomorrow.” 

“So you’re going upstairs?” Grantaire rolled his eyes. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to make you a trophy. Out of tin foil. It’s going to be a foot tall, Courfeyrac, and do you know what I’ll carve on its little tin foil plaque?” 

“What?” Courfeyrac fixed him with an unimpressed look. 

Grantaire leaned close and narrowed his eyes. “Worst. Friend. Ever.” 

Courfeyrac clasped a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded,” he deadpanned. “But you’re full of shit. You know I love you, Marius,” he turned and clapped Marius’ shoulder, “but this exam counts for like, twenty percent of my grade, so.” 

“It’s fine.” Marius was actually smiling now, and Éponine smiled to herself as she put three mugs of milk into the microwave. “I understand.” 

“That’s because you’re a _good friend_.” Courfeyrac looked at Grantaire pointedly before going into the living room and starting to gather up his things. 

“He laughs now,” Grantaire whispered, “but I’m totally making that trophy.” 

Marius unwound slightly as they watched the movie, and he ended up on the floor with Grantaire, helping him to make a tin foil trophy after his first attempt failed. Éponine watched them, feeling oddly maternal, and thought of Gavroche – _Toy Story_ had been his favourite film when he was little. They’d watched the video up in the attic room she shared with Azelma, the three of them curled up together on her bed. After Henri and Jules had gone, they’d all felt the fragility of their own position, and none more than Gavroche. At least she and Azelma had the sporadic affection of their mother – Gavroche had nothing and no one. And even though she’d made it clear that he was always welcome with her, he rarely visited. 

Next morning, Éponine slipped out of the house and caught the bus to Joly and Musichetta’s house. Musichetta answered the door when she knocked, hair mussed and face devoid of make-up. “Hi,” she smiled sleepily. 

“Did I wake you up?” Éponine asked, startled. She tended to forget that other people slept past ten when they weren’t hungover. 

“Nah.” Musichetta beckoned her in. “Come on, you’re letting the warmth out. Cosette’s in the front room.” 

Éponine went through and sighed at the sight of Cosette enveloped in blankets and a duvet, eyes wide as they looked up at her. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered, and Éponine’s heart melted a little bit. 

“Don’t be daft,” she said, careful not to let it show as she dumped her bag on the chair and sat down on the sofa bed next to Cosette. “You were pretty nice about it, all things considered. These things happen.” 

“Happened to you, didn’t they?” Musichetta nudged her before bouncing over to Cosette’s other side and leaning in to whisper, “Éponine fell in love with the girl who works in the chocolate shop in town over the summer, but they didn’t last. It was tragic.” 

“Which chocolate shop?” Cosette asked. 

Éponine looked down, glad she didn’t blush easily. “La Chocolaterie? They have a Halloween display at the moment, I think.” 

“Oh, I know the one.” Cosette smiled. “What was her name? Oh, if you don’t mind me asking, sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Éponine shook her head. “We’re still friends. Her name’s Adrienne.” At Musichetta’s not-so-subtle look, clearly indicating for her to continue, she sighed. “I went in there practically every day over the summer and we flirted like crazy –” 

“Helps that chocolate’s an aphrodisiac.” Musichetta winked. Éponine reached across Cosette to push her arm gently. 

“Shut up. So we flirted, and I asked her out, and we went on a couple of dates and we…” she pulled a face. “…fooled around a bit, I guess you could say. And then she dumped me. It felt really out of the blue to me at the time, but looking back on it she’d never been that invested y’know?” She ducked her head with an awkward shrug. “I was totally devastated, but it wore off, and I can go in the shop again now without feeling like I’m about to burst into flames, and we can still chat, so it’s fine.” 

“You think he’d still be friends with me?” Cosette asked, chewing on her bottom lip. 

Éponine smiled. “Give him a bit of time, and I’m sure it’ll be fine. You weren’t going out that long, after all. I mean, did you even do anything with him?” 

Cosette went pink. “We kissed,” she mumbled, and Musichetta laughed delightedly. 

“Éponine can’t remember much of their night of passion, so I never got any gossip – is he a good kisser?” 

“Oh my _god_ , Chetta,” Éponine groaned, falling back against the pillows. “Didn’t we agree never to speak of that?” 

“He, um, seemed good enough?” Cosette looked between them and then at her hands, twisting in her lap. “I don’t really have anything to compare it to.” 

“Marius was your first kiss?” Musichetta lit up even more. “That is _adorable_. Éponine, who was your first kiss with?” 

Éponine wrinkled her nose. She supposed she should’ve been prepared for girl talk when she came over, but this was a bit much. “What are we counting as a kiss here?” she asked. “Because I kissed Louis Beaulac when I was seven, but I’m not sure that counts because it’s not like we were sexually active.” 

“Tongues,” Musichetta decided, and Éponine sighed. 

“In that case, it’d be…” She squinted at the ceiling, trying to remember. “Théo Verdin, when I was eleven. You?” 

“You beat me by two whole years!” Musichetta gasped in mock outrage. “Typical. My first kiss was on holiday when I was thirteen. His name was Felipe.” She gave a dramatic swooning sigh and laughed. “I don’t know if I ever knew his last name – his family lived next door to our holiday villa. He wrote to me, but I never wrote back.” 

“Cold,” Éponine snorted. Musichetta shrugged. 

“I forgot! And then it was too late and I already had a crush on a boy in my music class, so I didn’t care.” 

“Very cold.” 

“Whatever. God, I feel like _I_ should sleep with Marius now, or at least kiss him, just to join the club.” 

Cosette giggled nervously, and Éponine grinned. “And how would Joly react? Violently?” 

“No!” Musichetta laughed. “Bossuet’s the one who would punch him. As if I’m not perfectly capable of hitting people on my own.” 

“Who’s Bossuet punching?” Joly appeared in the doorway in a rumpled t-shirt and a pair of boxers. “Oh, hey, Éponine. I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“We’re punching Marius.” Musichetta grinned at him, and his expression became worried. 

“You’re not being mean about him, are you?” 

“Of course not,” Éponine reassured him, then smirked. “ _You’ve_ kissed Marius, haven’t you?” 

Joly pulled a disgusted face. “If you’re referring to that horrible game of spin the bottle, then yes, but it wasn’t an experience I’d ever repeat.” 

“We had to physically bully him into playing,” Éponine told Cosette, snickering. “He wasn’t keen on swapping spit with half the group for some reason.” 

“I know exactly what kind of bacterial life forms live in your mouth,” Joly wrinkled his nose. “Of course I wasn’t keen. Do you have any idea how easily illness spreads through kissing? Not to mention the _things_ I’ve seen the other boys put in their mouths. It’s nauseating. Have you had breakfast, by the way?” 

“Not yet.” Musichetta scrambled off the sofa bed. “Cosette, do you want anything? I’m guessing you’ve already eaten, Ponine.” 

“Yep.” Éponine patted her stomach. “Love me some toast.” 

“We have toast.” Musichetta leaned against Joly, who put his arm around her apparently without thinking. “And some cereal. Bossuet’s really into coco pops at the moment, so we’ve got loads of them. Do you want tea or coffee?” 

“Um.” Cosette looked a little overwhelmed. “Toast is fine? And tea?” 

“Jam, honey?” Musichetta asked. “Milk and sugar?” 

“Honey? And, um, milk and two sugars, please.” 

“Cool.” Musichetta grinned and pulled Joly away to the kitchen. He smiled down at her as they went, holding her close. 

“They’re really cute together,” Cosette said quietly. Éponine nodded. 

“I know. You should see them when they’re drunk and Bossuet joins in – it’s like a pile of kittens.” 

“They’re not like that when they’re sober?” 

Éponine shrugged. “Usually she goes with one or the other, but when they’re drunk the inhibitions just fly out the window. They might be all snuggly together when they’re alone – I don’t know.” 

Cosette was silent for a moment, then whispered, “How’s Marius?” 

Éponine kicked her shoes off and wriggled under a blanket. “You really want to know?” 

“Yes.” 

“He vanished for a few hours.” She didn’t believe in sugar-coating the truth if someone had asked for it. “And when he came back he cried a bit, but he’ll be okay. We watched _Toy Story_ with Grantaire and he perked up.” 

“I know I shouldn’t make this about me,” Cosette shrunk into the duvet. “But I feel so bad about all of this.” 

“It’s okay.” Éponine’s fingers twitched. She wanted to offer some form of comfort, but didn’t dare in case it was less from a desire to help than to get closer to Cosette. She wouldn’t take advantage of her situation. She wasn’t like that. She _tried_ not to be like that, at any rate. Her hand stayed where it was and she sighed. “Break-ups are always shitty. At least all you did was kiss.” 

“What was it like after you slept with him?” Cosette asked shyly. “If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“It’s fine, everyone else already knows.” Éponine shrugged. “It was really crap, to be honest. I’d been pining after him for months, but when I woke up in bed with him I was so confused. I ran away with Courfeyrac when he visited his family; didn’t speak to Marius for almost a week. I was freaking out because, y’know, I didn’t feel anything for him and I’d just lost my virginity, and I was a complete mess. And I didn’t know I was gay at that point, so Courfeyrac had to put up with a lot of crazy.” She laughed, looking up at the ceiling again. “He helped me a lot, actually. He’s bi, so he had a bit of experience with the whole ‘liking the same gender’ thing. He thinks Marius was a safe crush – like, I knew subconsciously that nothing would happen, so I latched onto him, and when something did happen I lost it a little bit.” 

“ _Was_ he a safe crush?” Cosette asked. 

Éponine hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m definitely not into guys, but I was head over heels for Marius. I really don’t know. But he kind of accidentally helped me figure out my sexuality, and he was so nice about it afterwards – we were both really awkward around each other for a bit, apparently everyone thought it was hilarious.” She rolled her eyes. “But it’s all fine now. We’re friends, and everything’s fine. Don’t worry,” she added, smiling at Cosette. “You’ll be fine. Give it a couple of weeks and everything’ll be back to normal. If you still want to hang around with us anyway.” 

“You think that’ll be okay?” Cosette probably didn’t realise that she sounded so scared. Éponine fought the urge to hug her and smiled as comfortingly as she could instead. 

“Definitely. You came drinking with us. You bought one of Feuilly’s things. You didn’t enrage the beast of social justice that is Enjolras on a roll. Without wanting to imply that you’ve joined a cult or anything, you should probably accept the fact that you’re one of us.” 

Cosette broke into a huge smile. “I’m okay with that.” 

Éponine basked in the warmth of Cosette’s happiness. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels huge compared to Cosette's tiny one before this. :S


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cosette visits home and there is a meal at the big flat with a lot of Disney references.

Cosette threw her arms around her father as soon as she came off the train – she’d seen him waiting on the platform as she came in, and he laughed in her ear, probably resisting the urge to spin her around the way he’d done when she was little. “Hello to you too.” 

“Have you been waiting long?” she asked as he let her go and stooped to pick up her bag. 

“Only ten minutes or so. Come on, let’s get back home.” 

Home. Cosette had read somewhere that for children from happy homes, the houses they were raised in would always be _home_ , no matter how far away they moved or whether they had partners and children elsewhere. She knew how they felt. Her father had adopted her when she was eight, and although she had a blur of memories of other houses in her head from her time in the care system, her strongest memories were all from after her father had rescued her. 

“Tell me about this show you’re in,” he said once they were in the car. “Is there a date yet?” 

“I think it’s either just before we break up or just after. If it’s after you could drive me back, right?” 

“I think I could do that.” He smiled at her briefly before turning his attention back to the road – he was a very careful driver. “So what are you doing in it? Macbeth and a solo?” 

“The solo’s a surprise.” She wriggled pleasantly. “I haven’t told my friends either. Éponine’s just dying to pester me about it, I can tell, but she’s too nice to push.” 

“Éponine – one of your new friends?” 

“They’re so lovely, papa. Maybe you could meet them when you come up?” 

“I’d like that. How’s Marius?” 

She’d told him everything, of course. They called each other at least once a week to catch up, and she couldn’t keep anything from him. 

“It’s getting better,” she said, her smile fading, “but it’s still not how it was.” 

“Well, that’s to be expected,” he said wisely. “Have you two spoken yet?” 

“Not on our own. I don’t think there’s anything we could say to each other now.” She twisted her fingers in her lap. “Grantaire told me he’s throwing himself into his work to distract himself.” 

“Grantaire…the poet?” 

“No, that’s Jehan.” She smiled at him. “But Grantaire does Creative Writing too.” 

“You’re going to need to show me pictures,” he sighed. “I can’t keep their names straight in my head unless I have faces to match them to. You’ve made friends with so many, so quickly!” 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she beamed. “I wish I’d met them last year. Oh, I was going to tell you – do you remember I told you last year about that rally that stopped me getting into the music department that one time?” 

“Yes, I think so. What was it about again?” 

“Cuts to disability funding in schools, I think. But it was Enjolras and the ABC society that organised it!” 

“Did they mean to stop you getting into the music department?” 

“Not really, but they were trying to cause a disruption.” 

Her father frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.” 

“Well, not disruption exactly,” she amended. “They just wanted to get people’s attention. That was the whole point, because the cuts had been covered up so no one knew about it.” 

“How did they find out?” 

“They keep an eye out for this sort of thing so that they can inform other people about it. I think I want to become a member.” 

“Really?” he looked at her for a second, not disapproving, but a little surprised. 

She nodded. “They’ve been making me think a lot, and I was hoping while I was here that I could find out more about what you do – with the church, I mean, and the charity.” 

He brightened. “I’d be delighted.” 

She’d helped out with the charity before, but she didn’t really know very much about it beyond the roles she’d played in the past – standing with the donation tin at the end of church services, baking cakes, and giving away some toys and clothes for the annual church fair. But the charity was her father’s passion – he was always trying to help those less fortunate than himself. 

For his birthday the next day she made supper and gave him her present – she’d decided on a large book of beautiful photographs of the French countryside. One of the few genuine pleasures her father allowed himself were long nature walks and hikes, and she’d written on the inside: _Inspiration for future destinations! With love, Cosette._  

She’d also made him a card (he always preferred home-made to store-bought) and brought back a box of chocolates for them to share. She’d gone to La Chocolaterie the day before she’d left and browsed for almost twenty minutes, sneaking glances at the girl behind the counter – Adrienne. Adrienne was short and sharp-looking, with dark eyes and a pierced nose, and she’d laughed loudly at something a customer had said, smile wide and bright, close-cropped hair soft against her neck. 

Éponine had been utterly in love with her. Was Adrienne the sort of girl Éponine liked? 

She showed her father photographs of the ABC society online, pointing out the members and naming them so that he would remember them. “That’s Enjolras,” she said, pointing to him in a group shot of all of them in the big flat, obviously taken during pre-drinks. “And that’s Marius, there.” 

“And Enjolras is the leader, yes?” 

“You can tell, right? He’s very focused.” In the photograph he was smiling slightly at something Courfeyrac was saying to him, obviously amused at his friend’s wild gesturing. “And that’s Musichetta, and that’s Éponine.” 

“She’s the girl you’re doing the show with, isn’t she?” 

“Yep. She does English and Drama, and she’s one of the witches in the scene we’re doing from Macbeth. Well, _they’re_ doing, really. All I do is add a little atmosphere.” 

“You’re essential to the production, I don’t doubt.” He smiled at her and she leaned against his shoulder with a happy sigh. She liked university, but coming home was always lovely. For the first time though, she wasn’t entirely reluctant to leave. She wondered what had been going on over the weekend; whether the others had gone out or stayed in, if they’d made any headway with the online petition Combeferre had been talking about. It was a strange feeling, but not unwelcome. She was sure that this was how students were meant to feel, and until now she’d been a little abnormal. 

All too soon however, she had to leave, and her father hugged her goodbye at the train station. “I probably won’t be able to come back before the holidays,” she told him sadly. “I’ve got rehearsals and stuff…” 

“And you should spend more of your time with these new friends of yours,” he kissed her forehead. “I think they’re good for you. Being involved in charity work means that they can’t be all bad, at least.” 

Cosette smiled. “Thanks for talking to me about the church, by the way. I think I might be getting the hang of this activism stuff.” 

“You should write down what you discover,” he said, looking up as her train pulled into the station. “It helps to see where you’ve come from and how far you’ve travelled.” 

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. I’ll see you soon, papa.” She hugged him one last time. 

“Tell me when you get the date for your show.” He hugged her back tightly, then handed her bag to her. “Have fun.” 

“Bye, papa!” 

On the way back, she stared out of the window and considered her father’s advice. She’d wished more than once that there was a sort of beginner’s guide for what the ABC society was doing, or at least a more diluted, easier to understand explanation for their work. She was still getting used to the terms they batted around, and she still had no idea who most of the politicians and public figures they talked about were. Writing it down would probably help her get a better handle on it all, she thought. So why not write it where other people could see it? People maybe in the same situation as her, who wanted to help but didn’t really know what to do or where to start. 

She texted Éponine: Thinking of starting a blog. Good idea? 

Éponine: Depends what it’s about. What’s it about? 

Cosette: Activism and stuff. Bc I want to help and maybe join the ABC? But Idk about half the stuff they talk about. 

Cosette: Actually, a lot more than half. Most of it is gibberish to me. 

Éponine: Lol, yeah, it’s pretty mental. That could totally be your blog title though. 

Cosette: What, Idk wtf they’re talking about? 

Éponine: No! Activism and stuff. 

Cosette giggled. 

Cosette: Maybe. Do you think it’s a good idea then? 

Éponine: Yeah, go for it. You gonna tell the others? 

Cosette: I don’t think so. Maybe? Not yet. 

Éponine: Flattered you told me then. ;) 

Cosette grinned, fingers flying over her phone. 

Cosette: You’re obviously my favourite. ;) 

They texted all the way back, Éponine’s questions helping to refine the ideas growing in Cosette’s mind. She decided against calling her blog Activism & Stuff, but couldn’t think of an alternative title. Éponine assured her something would strike her fancy and asked if she wanted to come over to the big flat for supper. 

Cosette only hesitated for a moment before agreeing. Marius would be there, but she was sure that it would be fine. Chetta had told her that the best way to get over the awkward stage was to resolutely persevere in _refusing_ to be awkward, and Cosette deferred to her expertise on the matter. 

“Cosette!” Jehan let her in and enveloped her in an unexpected but welcome hug. “You made it!” 

“I said I’d come,” she hugged him back. He pulled away with a shrug. 

“You never know. Some people,” he looked over his shoulder pointedly, “are shit at keeping to plans.” 

“I’m busy!” Feuilly called from beyond the sofa. Cosette went over to see what he was doing. The coffee table looked like the site of an explosion in a textiles factory. 

“Still making bags?” she asked. 

“People love them,” he didn’t look up from his sewing, “and I need to keep up with the demand. I can’t believe how well they’re selling!” 

“You’re doing well,” Jehan came over to lean against the sofa, glaring down at Feuilly. “You should reward yourself with some actual food.” 

“Busy.” Feuilly said curtly. Jehan sighed. 

“Combeferre, you have a go.” 

“I’m cooking,” Combeferre called from the kitchen. They were the only ones there, and Cosette wondered if she was early. 

“Last chance,” Jehan warned Feuilly. “Accept dinner gracefully or I _will_ get Bahorel.” 

Feuilly hissed. “ _Fine_. But I’m inhaling the food and leaving the second I’m done.” 

Jehan smiled brightly. “That’s all I wanted.” 

“I hate you.” 

“You love me.” 

Cosette followed Jehan as he went over to the kitchen. “What’s so bad about getting Bahorel?” she asked curiously. 

Combeferre laughed, and Jehan hoisted himself up onto the counter with a grin. “Bahorel doesn’t believe in physical restraint,” he explained. “The last time we asked him to force Feuilly to sit down and eat with us he literally leaned over the sofa, grabbed Feuilly around the middle and dragged him over the top.” 

“Feuilly tried to attack him with a scalpel,” Combeferre snickered. “He doesn’t like being surprised.” 

Cosette stared. “Was Bahorel alright?” 

“Oh, fine.” Jehan waved a hand. “It wasn’t a deep cut. Bahorel’s definitely had worse. Actually, Joly freaked out more than either of them – he confiscated the scalpel and wouldn’t let Feuilly have it back until he’d disinfected it.” 

“I took care of Bahorel.” Combeferre turned around with a spoon in his hand. “Here, taste?” 

Jehan leaned forward obediently and slurped off the edge. “Mmm,” he nodded enthusiastically as Combeferre held it out to Cosette as well. She sipped delicately – the spoon and the sauce were both very hot – and smiled. 

“Delicious. What’s in it?” 

Combeferre grinned and went back to the pot. “Mushrooms, garlic, nothing fancy. Reckon it’ll go well with pasta?” 

“Definitely.” Jehan smacked his lips. “How long till it’s ready?” 

“Twenty minutes, maybe?” 

“Did I get here early?” Cosette looked around the almost empty room and Jehan shook his head. 

“No, Combeferre just started late. The others should be here soon though.” 

They looked around as a door opened and Bahorel came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, steam pouring out behind him. “That smells good,” he said, inhaling deeply. “How long till it’s ready?” 

“About twenty minutes. Come here, taste this.” Combeferre leaned over the counter and held the spoon out for Bahorel. He winked at Cosette as he walked over and she couldn’t suppress a grin, sure that she was blushing. He was well-built, and as he approached she saw a large bruise fading from blue to green on his side. 

“How did you get that?” she asked, shocked. 

Bahorel sampled the sauce and nodded. “Nice,” he told Combeferre. “Maybe add something spicy? Give it a bit of a kick?” 

“Gentle food tonight.” Combeferre shook his head and Bahorel sighed, turning his attention to Cosette. 

“This? Nah, it’s nothing. Got in a fight at the weekend, that’s all. Check this one out!” He turned around and hitched the towel up a little to show a huge purpling bruise on the back of his thigh. “Now _that’s_ more like it.” Jehan raised his eyebrows. 

“Did someone drag you along the road or something?” 

“Can’t remember.” Bahorel lowered the towel and turned around with a grin. “Grantaire challenged me to down ten shots in twenty seconds, so everything after that is a bit of a blur.” 

“You are such an idiot,” Feuilly snorted. 

“If living life to its fullest is idiocy, I think we could all stand to be a bit stupider,” Bahorel retorted. 

“Wow,” Jehan hopped down from the counter and fished a pen from his pocket, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. “Say that again? For you, that was almost profound.” 

“Wow, thanks.” Bahorel rolled his eyes but repeated himself for Jehan, who wrote down each word on his inner forearm, green ink in spiky italics on pale skin. “Call me out when it’s ready, yeah?” 

“Will do,” Combeferre nodded. 

“Hey,” Jehan narrowed his eyes and studied Cosette closely for a moment. Or more specifically, she noticed, her hair. “What is that? How did you do it?” 

“Oh,” she lifted her hand to the side of her head and smiled. “It’s called a waterfall braid. They look difficult, but they’re quite easy once you get the hang of them.” 

“Reckon I’d be able to do one?” he tugged a hand through his hair thoughtfully. She pursed her lips. His hair only just fell past his shoulders. 

“Maybe. I don’t know how well it’d stay though. I think the weight of the hair keeps it in place, so the longer the better, I suppose.” 

Jehan sighed. “Hair grows so slowly.” 

She smiled. “How long do you want yours to be?” 

“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted, hopping back up onto the counter. “But longer than this.” 

“When did you start growing it?” 

“Last year.” He smiled at Combeferre. “I’ve wanted to have long hair for ages, really, but I was always too nervous.” 

“Shame.” She reached out and pinched a strand, rubbing it between her fingers. Jehan’s hair was a pale, sandy colour with a hint of ginger, thick and soft to the touch. “It’s really nice.” 

“Thanks.” He brightened and picked a lock of her hair from her shoulder, running his fingers down it gently. “Yours is lovely. Like an angel.” 

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Don’t _I_ have nice hair?” 

Jehan grinned. “You have lovely hair. Just not as much of it.” 

They looked around as the front door opened and the inhabitants of the little house spilled in, talking loudly. 

“Jehan!” Courfeyrac called. “Settle this for us – Gandalf or Dumbledore.” 

Jehan shrugged. “Dumbledore.” 

“Yes!” Courfeyrac pointed a triumphant finger in Grantaire’s face. “You see?” 

“Bollocks,” Grantaire pushed it away with a scowl. “Everyone knows he’s biased.” 

Éponine came over to stand next to Cosette as they continued to argue. “They’ve been doing this the whole way here,” she complained. “If they go on for much longer, I’m going to turn a hose on them.” 

Cosette grinned and caught Marius’ eye over Éponine’s shoulder. “Hey,” she said, hoping she sounded friendly. 

He smiled slightly and nodded. “Hi.” 

They would be alright, Cosette decided. It was all going to be fine. 

When dinner was served they all sat on the floor in a rough circle, and only the threat of Bahorel looming over him forced Feuilly to finally put his sewing aside and join them, digging in immediately. 

“Relax, Feuilly,” Grantaire took a swig of beer. “Slow down.” 

“You try making ten bags in one day and see how calm you feel,” Feuilly retorted around a mouthful of pasta. 

“If you’re making them so fast, it means they’re selling well, right?” Marius pointed out. “You can afford to chill out for a bit.” 

“You can never afford to rest,” Feuilly disagreed to a chorus of tutting. He swallowed and pulled a wry face. “One jump ahead of the breadline, one swing ahead of the sword.” 

“I steal only what I can’t afford,” Courfeyrac sang with a grin. “That’s everything.” 

“Is that _Aladdin?_ ” Cosette asked, delighted. 

Éponine grinned. “We did this thing last year with Disney characters –” 

“Oh _don’t_ ,” Bahorel groaned. “Not that again.” 

“He’s Beast,” Éponine smirked. “Violent exterior with a fluffy centre.” 

Cosette was thrilled. “Who are you?” 

Éponine tossed her hair. “Mulan. Which is awesome, because Mulan is the absolute _best_.” 

“What about everyone else?” 

“Okay,” Éponine leaned in close and grinned with too many teeth. “Enjolras is Shang, because he wants to turn us into a manly revolutionary army.” He rolled his eyes, mouth full of pasta. “Jehan is Belle, because he loves reading.” 

“And I also want adventure in the great wide somewhere,” he added solemnly. 

Éponine ignored him. “Combeferre is Pacha, Courfeyrac…did we ever actually decide whether you were Kuzco or Flynn Rider?” 

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I can’t be both?” 

“Fine, whatever.” Éponine moved on swiftly. “Grantaire is Prince Naveen, because he’s super lazy and loves to party –” 

He lifted his beer bottle with a smirk and said, “Don’t forget the unholy trio.” 

“Oh yeah,” Éponine nodded. “Bossuet’s Hercules because of how clumsy he is, Joly is _obviously_ Tantor the elephant, and Musichetta is Meg.” 

“She’s a damsel, she causes distress, she can handle it,” Jehan grinned. Éponine carried on as if she couldn’t hear him. 

“Marius is Tiana because he works all the time. We almost gave Tiana to Feuilly because of that but in the end he got Aladdin because of the orphan thing.” 

Cosette stared. “Orphan thing?” 

Feuilly nodded, apparently unconcerned as he continued to shovel pasta into his mouth at breakneck speed. “I’ve got no idea who my parents are. Been in care my whole life.” 

“Oh.” She hesitated, then decided to go on. “I was in care for a while too.” 

Feuilly looked up, interested. “Yeah?” 

She nodded. She’d never really spoken about it in detail to anyone before, but knowing that he knew what it was like made her feel less awkward. “My mum couldn’t take care of me, so I got put in care when I was two. She died when I was eight, and then I got adopted by my dad.” 

He gave her an assessing look. “I bet you were a really cute eight year-old.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “I really wasn’t. I looked like a drowned rat. My dad didn’t pick me out of a care home or anything – he got to know my mum while she was in hospital and found out about me through her.” 

“Nice.” Feuilly ate a little slower, contemplative. “Were you fostered before that?” 

“A few times. I don’t know how many exactly – they never lasted. You?” 

“Yeah, a few times, mostly when I was little. Best was this Polish couple – they had me for almost a year, but then they had to go back to Poland and they couldn’t take me with them. Too much paperwork, different systems, you know. Worst was this old lady who fostered loads of kids for the money. She didn’t treat us badly or anything, but you could tell we were just meal tickets for her.” 

“I know what you mean,” she nodded, “I was in a couple of places like that. There was this couple who owned a pub and they already had kids – their own kids, I mean – and they really favoured them.” Feuilly tsked in sympathy. “The mum terrified me – she had the loudest voice I’ve ever heard.” Suddenly aware of everyone else listening to their conversation, she flushed. “So, which Disney character would I be then?” she asked quickly. 

Courfeyrac leaned forward immediately. “ _Obviously_ Rapunzel.” 

Grantaire frowned. “Reasons?” 

“Are you even serious?” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “Come on. Long blonde hair, big pretty eyes, looks innocent but could probably knock you out with a frying pan? Why, did you have someone else in mind?” 

Grantaire shrugged. “I was thinking Alice in Wonderland, actually. You know – falls down the rabbit hole out of her ordinary life and into this crazy mess.” 

“I like your crazy mess,” Cosette protested. Grantaire pointed a finger at her. 

“Exactly. Wonderland is batshit insane, but it’s super fun.” 

“Same kind of argument could be made for Rapunzel though,” Bahorel argued. “She comes out of her tower and has her eyes opened and stuff.” 

“Plus, Alice didn’t really like Wonderland that much,” Courfeyrac added. “She spends the whole story trying to get home. But Rapunzel loved it outside her tower, and I’m assuming Cosette likes hanging out with us or she wouldn’t do it.” He smiled at her and she returned it, pleased. 

Grantaire sighed. “Alright, I concede, you win.” 

“Damn straight I do.” Courfeyrac leaned over to high-five Bahorel. “And also,” he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at Cosette as he sat down again. “If you’re Rapunzel, and I’m Flynn Rider –” 

“I get to knock you out with a frying pan?” she said sweetly. 

He huffed. “See? Told you so. She’s totally Rapunzel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feuuiiillllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! (I have a lot of Feuilly feelings, okay?) And thanks to Robyn ([Tyrion_Lannister](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyrion_Lannister) on AO3) for helping me decide who went with their Disney characters.
> 
> (Javert is totally Maximus the horse from Tangled, I mean...)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Éponine has another secret to keep from Cosette, she is nervous about the show, and there is pining. Also, Christmas!

Éponine put Courfeyrac between her and Cosette on the walk back, unable to face the other girl now she knew the truth. She walked with Marius, the two of them leaving Courfeyrac and Grantaire to chatter to Cosette as they walked her to her house. She only seemed to notice when they arrived and she frowned at them. “Did you just collectively decide to walk me home?” 

They shuffled awkwardly. “Yes?” Courfeyrac answered hesitantly. 

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “I’m not a damsel.” 

“Then fair mademoiselle is not distressed?” Grantaire grinned and she laughed. 

“No. Do you want to come in?” 

“Nah,” Courfeyrac cast a glance at Marius and Éponine, ever sensitive to other people’s moods. “We’ll get on back. Have a nice night.” 

“You too. Goodnight.” Cosette disappeared inside with a farewell smile and Éponine heaved a sigh as they walked away. 

Marius raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I be the one doing that?” 

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I knew.” She hated _everything_. 

Marius frowned as she put her arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” 

If she shared this secret, perhaps it would make the weight of carrying her crush on Cosette a little lighter. “Okay, but when this inevitably gets around the group, can you at least make sure it’s done quietly? And without Cosette knowing?” 

“Sure,” Marius exchanged a look with Courfeyrac. “Go on.” 

She looked down, focusing on the movements of her feet next to Marius’. “My parents used to foster kids,” she said, “for the money, like Feuilly said.” 

“Holy shit.” Grantaire caught on immediately. “ _You’re_ the foster family. With the pub and the loud mum and the favoured kids.” 

Éponine looked up and saw them all staring at her with wide eyes. “ _Are_ you?” Courfeyrac asked, shocked. 

She looked down again. “I’m pretty sure. My parents used to foster quite a lot. For the money.” 

“Were you mean to the other children?” Marius asked. 

Éponine shrunk and mumbled, “Probably.” Back when her mother had still thought she and Azelma were cute, when she had spoiled them rotten. They’d flaunted their presents in front of the foster children, playing pretend games where she and Azelma were the princesses and the foster kids were just the dirty servants. 

She had a distant, fuzzy memory of a thin blonde girl with a scared face hiding under a table from her mother’s booming voice. She was sure it was Cosette. 

“Doesn’t count if you were,” Grantaire said decisively. “Kids are always horrible. I don’t understand why people don’t seem to see that. Kids are cruel, spiteful little fuckers, and anyone who says otherwise is wearing rose-tinted goggles. Or is trying to sell something, or has never seen a pack of kids in action. They’re vicious little savages when they get started – the natural state of the human being. Another reason why the race is doomed.” 

“Oh, can it.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “The last thing we need right now is one of your depressing rants.” 

“Charming.” Grantaire swatted Courfeyrac’s arm. 

Marius squeezed her gently. “You should tell her.” 

She nodded. “I will. Just…in my own time, yeah? Can you guys keep it quiet till I do?” 

“Yeah, no problem,” Courfeyrac agreed. “It’s your secret to tell.” 

And to keep. Just like the other Cosette-related secret. Éponine glanced sideways at Marius and felt guilt twist in her stomach. One secret she could tell. _Would_ tell, at the right time. The other she had to keep to herself. Letting it out would only bring pain to Marius, conflict the rest of their friends, and in all likelihood push Cosette away for good. She wouldn’t say a word. 

Of course, that was easier said than done when they were spending more time than ever on the university show, which meant that she was seeing Cosette nearly every day for something or another. And of course, Cosette kept coming over to the big flat to spend time with them, and it wasn’t like Éponine wanted to push her away or anything. She _liked_ Cosette. She didn’t want to give her the impression that she didn’t want her around. So she had to keep being friendly (not difficult when Cosette was so damnably charming) and it was torturous. 

It also didn’t help that Cosette had a few videos on YouTube of her covering various songs, and Éponine spent hours watching her, clicking repeat and listening to her so many times she learned the songs by heart. “How is this my life?” she muttered, chin in hand, watching the curve of Cosette’s lips as she sang. A couple of the songs had been filmed as Cosette recorded them for her course, so she was sitting in front of a microphone with headphones that were far too big for her, guitar in her arms. 

Whoever had been behind the camera took great pleasure in providing close-ups of Cosette’s fingers curled around the neck, strumming gently against the strings, and her face, half-hidden by her hair whenever she ducked her head. The blonde shone under the light, soft against her cheeks, and Éponine sighed, barely resisting the urge to trace the curl with the tip of her finger. There were levels of pathetic she hadn’t quite sunk to yet, although the key word there was _yet_. 

When Cosette stared at her in the middle of a full-show rehearsal and whispered, “Is that my song?” Éponine flushed, not having realised what she was humming. 

“Um. Maybe?” 

Cosette beamed. “You watched my videos? How did you find those?” 

Éponine thought fast. She couldn’t admit to Facebook-stalking her. That was too weird. “Oh, I Google everyone from time to time. See what comes up. Jehan’s got a few videos on YouTube as well. None that he’s put up himself, I mean – ones that other people have taken of him.” 

Cosette leaned closer, intrigued. “He sings?” 

Her hair smelled lovely. Éponine shook her head, keeping her voice down. “Spoken word. He goes to poetry slams for his course sometimes, and people film it.” 

“Cool!” 

“Could everyone be quiet please!” Madame Caron shouted from the edge of the stage. “For God’s sake, focus on your positions! Let’s do a quick run-through of the groups now.” 

Cosette slipped away after Éponine’s group came on and went off, her presence required in the band for a second number, and a third – her solo was actually the conclusion to the whole show. “I’ll hear it in the dress rehearsal,” Éponine told her teasingly when they were done. 

Cosette frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Crap, I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone at the same time.” 

Éponine stared at her. “Everyone?” 

“The ABC? And my father’s coming too.” 

“The boys are coming?” 

“Musichetta too.” 

“How did...” Éponine swallowed. “Did you tell them?” 

Cosette looked at her concernedly. “Tell them what?” 

“That I was in it?” 

“The cast list is in the email everyone got about the show. Didn’t you see?” 

“I figured I didn’t need to open it because I’m in the show, so of course I’ll be there. Fuck, did they all get tickets and everything?” 

“I think so.” Cosette touched her arm. “Is that a bad thing?” 

Éponine ran a hand through her hair and pulled a face. “Well, it’s just...they’ve never seen me on stage before.” 

“Are you nervous?” 

“I hate acting in front of people I know,” Éponine admitted. “The only reason I can do it in front of you is because you’re a part of the act. Oh Christ, and I’m playing a fucking witch and everything...this could not actually get any worse.” 

They stepped outside the hall and Cosette pulled her suddenly into a hug. Éponine was so shocked by the sensation of Cosette pressed up against her, arms tight around her and golden hair soft against her face that she froze. 

“It’ll be fine,” Cosette said reassuringly. “You’ll be wonderful. If you can’t perform in front of people you know, you can’t do it in front of anyone.” 

Éponine managed to gather enough wits to pull away, despite every part of her wanting to cling on. “Well that’s bullshit. I’ve acted in front of loads of other people before and I did fine.” 

Cosette smiled. “Then do it in front of your friends and prove you can be fine in front of them too. It’s no different from Jehan going to slams. Easier, even – he’s speaking his own work, isn’t he?” 

“I know for a fact he goes to slams he doesn’t tell any of us about!” Éponine narrowed her eyes. 

Cosette shrugged. “Then it’s like Grantaire showing us his writing.” 

“Except he doesn’t have to be in costume and make-up!” 

“Stop making excuses,” Cosette said firmly. “They’re coming whether you like it or not, so you’ll have to manage somehow.” 

“Oh God.” Éponine moaned dramatically and Cosette laughed and took her arm, steering her away. 

“You’ll be fine. You’re great in the show. Do you have anything now, by the way?” 

Éponine sighed. “No, not for a couple of hours.” 

“Want to get lunch?” 

She shouldn’t. “Sure, why not?” 

Cosette smiled and led her away, and Éponine cursed her inability to control her mouth, her brain, and her heart. Apparently she was doomed to fall the hardest for people who didn’t like her back. 

When she got home she cornered Grantaire in the living room. “Did you all buy tickets for the uni show?” she hissed. He sighed. 

“Balls. We wanted to surprise you. Who let it slip?” 

“Cosette told me.” 

“Oh. Fair enough then – she didn’t know we wanted it to be a surprise.” 

“I’m fucking glad she did!” Éponine glared at him. “Do you know what would’ve happened if I’d gone on stage and seen you all there in the audience, grinning at me like baboons?” 

Grantaire squinted. “Been really touched by our enthusiastic support of your career?” 

Éponine smacked his arm. “I would’ve run a bloody mile!” 

Grantaire’s face fell. “But we’re your mates! And we’ve never seen you act before.” 

Éponine resisted the urge to bitch him out even more. It would only make the whole mess worse. So she just lifted a warning finger and narrowed her eyes. “From now on, you warn me if you decide to come and see me, okay?” 

Grantaire raised his hands in surrender. “Okay! Sorry! Didn’t realise you were so against surprises.” 

“The worst kind of prize is a surprise,” she said darkly, turning to stomp into the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of tea?” 

“Um, yes? Please?” 

“Fine.” She put the kettle on and slammed two mugs on the counter pointedly. “Tell the others this idea of theirs was stupid, okay? Actually, whose idea was it?” 

“I feel like I shouldn’t say.” Grantaire poked his head cautiously around the corner. “Seeing as you came close to stabbing me just for _participating_ in this plan. Add some whiskey?” 

“Fine,” she snapped, mind whirring. “I bet it was Courfeyrac. It was Courfeyrac, wasn’t it?” 

“No?” 

“I bet it was,” she seethed. 

Her nerves only increased as the show approached, the end of term with it. Every time she mentioned it, Cosette would hug her reassuringly, which wasn’t exactly incentive to stop even though it really should’ve been. Cosette was very into Christmas, it turned out, which shouldn’t have been surprising. She joined in whole-heartedly on the first of December (which fell luckily on a weekend) when they did all the decorating. They’d decided to do all their places in one go, starting with the smallest and moving up to the big flat. Of course, this meant that they started with Cosette’s flat, and squeezing thirteen people into a one-bedroom apartment was no easy feat. 

Éponine sat on Feuilly’s shoulders and Cosette sat on Bahorel’s, the four of them swaying slightly as she and Cosette pinned streamers along the walls. She wasn’t really a huge fan of Christmas – too many memories of drunken parents and no presents – and she knew there were others like her in their little group. Grantaire and Enjolras were united for once in their derision of the holiday, and Musichetta treated the whole season with a healthy dose of disdain, but they had been forbidden from bringing the mood down while they were all decorating, and they were complying with the minimum amount of eye-rolling. 

Everyone else was pleasant enough about Christmas, but Courfeyrac and Jehan acted like they were possessed. They had been strictly forbidden from rubbing the festive season in their faces until December officially begun, and today was their day to really let rip. They were both wearing disgusting Christmas jumpers, and Jehan had managed to get control of the iPod dock, forcing them to listen to carols and other appropriately jolly songs. 

“I’m going to get cavities from today,” Éponine muttered to Feuilly, who sat comfortably on the fence as far as Christmas was concerned. He laughed and patted her knee. 

“Don’t let the Christmas police hear you,” he said. They both looked over at Jehan and Courfeyrac, who were cheerily engaged in decorating Cosette’s tiny plastic tree together. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she whispered, and he snickered. 

After Cosette’s they moved onto Joly and Musichetta’s. Their bed was quite big enough for three people, Éponine noticed, and there were three toothbrushes in the bathroom, but that didn’t really prove anything. Bossuet had a toothbrush at the big flat as well, so it wasn’t exactly conclusive. At the little house, Éponine and Grantaire declared their bedrooms firmly off-limits. 

“Vomit tinsel all over the rest of the house for all I care,” Grantaire told Jehan and Courfeyrac, planting himself in front of his closed door defiantly. “But if I find so much as a fairy light in my room, I will go full-on Grinch on your asses.” 

Jehan brightened. “Your heart will grow three sizes and you’ll join in with our communal carol singing?” 

Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “I will steal Christmas, Prouvaire, don’t think that I won’t. And I could do it too! Enjolras would help me, wouldn’t you?” 

Éponine followed the direction of his glance to the stairs, which Enjolras was descending. “No comment,” he said grumpily, and Grantaire smirked. 

Éponine held up a hand as Jehan and Courfeyrac turned hopefully to her. “What Grantaire said. My bedroom is a no-go area. And I _mean_ it – Courfeyrac, I swear to God, if you try and turn my room into a grotto overnight, I will hang you with your own paper chains.” 

Courfeyrac’s lower lip trembled. “But Époniiiiiiiiine...” 

“I’ll make it look like an accident,” she hissed threateningly and Jehan grabbed Courfeyrac’s arm. 

“Above and around her door doesn’t count!” 

Éponine sighed, but let them at it. Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “That does count as far as I’m concerned. Try that on mine and I’ll push you down the stairs.” 

“Worth it,” Courfeyrac sang, pinning tinsel up the side of Éponine’s door. 

“Stay still!” Jehan bent down, grabbed Courfeyrac around the legs, and lifted him up so he could put tinsel over Éponine’s door as well. “Got it?” 

“Done!” 

Éponine stared at her glittering doorframe and sighed. Grantaire ducked into his room and returned with a pool cue, holding it in front of him defensively. “No one touches my door!” 

“Where the hell did you get that?” She stared at him and he shrugged sheepishly. 

“Bahorel dared me to nick it, so...ta-da? I was drunk.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re always drunk.” 

“Right now I’m not drunk enough.” He eyed Jehan and Courfeyrac suspiciously as they disappeared into Courfeyrac’s bedroom with armfuls of fairy lights. “But if I go downstairs to get a drink, I just know they’ll vandalise my door.” 

“Sad but true. Guard mine for me?” 

“Not much left to guard,” he snorted, looking at her door. Éponine stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Just don’t let them inside.” 

“Get me a drink and it’s a deal.” 

“Fine.” 

Downstairs, Cosette, Combeferre and Bahorel were digging through a box of baubles while Feuilly set up a plastic Christmas tree next to the TV. Cosette looked up when she came in and stood up to grab her arm. “Come and help, come on! Are these yours?” 

“No,” Éponine laughed. “Marius bought them last year, didn’t he?” She looked at Feuilly, who nodded. 

“Weirdest shopping trip I’ve ever been on. Grantaire was _so drunk_ , god, we actually got thrown out of a couple of stores. We were laughing too hard to be embarrassed though.” He grinned and backed away from the tree with a triumphant gesture. “Behold!” 

“Perfect!” Cosette exclaimed, handing baubles and other mismatched decorations to Éponine to put on the tree. Éponine forgot all about getting a drink for Grantaire and let Cosette direct her hands, distracted by the occasional touch of the other girl’s fingers against her own. Cosette went up on tiptoe behind her to hang a cheap plastic angel near the top of the tree, her chin resting for a moment on Éponine’s shoulder, her breath warm against Éponine’s neck. 

Éponine swallowed, her skin tingling, and turned her head slightly against Cosette’s, brushing their cheeks together for a fraction of a second. Cosette smiled and put a hand on Éponine’s other shoulder to steady her while she reached up with the angel. “Stay still?” 

“Of course,” Éponine replied. As if she would let Cosette stumble. She stood still and steady while Cosette leaned against her, and tried to ignore the way her heart was thumping in her ears, surely loud enough for everyone to hear. It felt like an age before Cosette finally hooked the angle on a fake twig and stepped back, and Éponine wanted to both sigh at the loss of her warmth and huff with relief. 

She turned around to get another bauble from the box and took a deep breath. This was _ridiculous_ , but she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. It was like she was addicted and she had no idea how to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels really odd to be writing Christmas stuff in June. Also, the YouTube videos of Cosette singing are all totally based off Amanda Seyfried [singing this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ag8JyPCe_d0), and it's all kinds of pretty and the lyrics make me think of Éponine's feelings for Cosette. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is dancing, childhood memories, and a secret revealed.

_Not being heard is no reason for silence._

Cosette looked at the heading for her blog and nodded to herself, feeling irrationally nervous. It was a good title. In smaller text underneath were the words, ‘Activism & Stuff’, which made her smile slightly even now. She hovered the cursor over the button that would make the page public. From there it would be the work of a few seconds to post her first entry, and even though it was all typed up and ready to copy over, she still hesitated. 

She could sing and play five different instruments in front of audiences ranging from as small to one to as many as hundreds, but she was hesitating over putting a few of her words on the internet? 

Maybe this was what Éponine had meant when she’d tried to describe her illogical nerves over her friends coming to the show. 

Cosette had picked up her phone almost before she knew what she was doing, finding Éponine’s number quickly and hitting dial. Éponine answered on the second ring. 

“What’s up, buttercup?” 

Cosette smiled at the cheery greeting. “My blog post is okay, right?” Éponine had proof-read it for her the day before. Cosette still hadn’t told any of the others. She wasn’t ready yet. 

“Hang on.” There were the sounds of Éponine walking, probably out of the living room and outside or upstairs. “Okay. Your post is great, Cosette. What are you worried about?” 

“I don’t know.” Cosette sighed and leaned back in her chair, frowning anxiously at the blog’s layout. “I’m just nervous I guess. Do you think it looks too girly?” 

“It looks fine. Blue is a neutral colour. If anything, people associate it more with boys, don’t they? Pink probably would’ve been a bit much.” She laughed. “Stop worrying, Cosette. It’s _fine_.” 

Cosette took a deep breath. “You don’t think the header’s too serious?” 

“It’s perfect. Serious is good. Besides, you’ve got the subtitle, haven’t you? That relaxes the tone a bit.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Cosette leaned forward and clicked before she could change her mind. “I did it. Oh my God, Éponine, it’s up.” 

“What about the post?” 

Cosette put her phone on speaker and started to upload it. “Doing that now. Oh my God, it’s online, it’s happening, I did it, we did it, it’s actually happening.” 

“You did it,” Éponine said warmly. “This is all you.” 

“Shut up, I probably wouldn’t have had the nerve without your help. Okay, I posted it. It’s all online. Ahhhhh, Éponine, what if no one likes it? What if no one comments at all?” 

“They probably won’t for a while,” Éponine said, unconcerned. “These things don’t become popular overnight. You’ve just got to keep going with them, and remember what I said about promotion?” 

“Yes.” Cosette chewed her bottom lip absently. They’d talked about emailing other, better-known blogs and asking for promotions, and asking Chetta for any boosts she could give it – one of the requirements for the first year of her journalism course had been setting up a platform for her work, and she’d started a YouTube channel that had quite a lot of subscribers now, so if she mentioned Cosette’s blog it was bound to get a little more attention. “I don’t want to tell anyone else just yet though.” 

“Musichetta won’t tell Joly and Bossuet if you ask her not to.” 

“I know. Just...not yet.” 

“Want to build up a little success of your own first?” Éponine teased. 

“Maybe,” Cosette admitted. “I’d like to see how many hits I can get with just the content, you know?” She hadn’t uploaded any personal information beyond saying that she was a student in Paris, just in case one of the others stumbled across it by accident, and she would like to see how much attention she could get with her words alone. 

Éponine shouted something to one of the others. “Sorry,” she said, “just Courfeyrac. We’re going to the Musain in about half an hour if you’re free?” 

Cosette grinned. “Sure. I’ll meet you there?” 

“Sounds good. See you in a bit.” 

“See you.” 

Cosette heaved a sigh of relief when she hung up and looked at the blog. She always felt better after talking to Éponine, and she would be seeing her soon, which was even better. 

Almost everyone was at the Musain when she arrived and plopped down between Éponine and Bahorel on the sofa under the window. Grantaire had the other seat on the sofa, Enjolras was arguing about something with Courfeyrac on the other side of the table, and Jehan and Bossuet took the remaining chairs with Chetta perched comfortably in Bossuet’s lap. 

“Where’re the others?” Cosette asked Éponine, leaning against her so Grantaire and Bahorel wouldn’t be squashed. 

“Joly and Combeferre are being boring medical students at the library,” Éponine told her. “And Marius and Feuilly are working.” 

“Because they are tragic.” Bahorel leaned back and spread his arms over the back of the sofa. “Cosette, help me.” 

“With what?” Cosette leaned more against Éponine as she turned to look at Bahorel properly. Éponine just shifted her body to better support her and Cosette smiled. 

“Vintage. What the hell is the deal with vintage? Is this a craze I’ve missed or something? Because it sounds like complete bullshit, but this girl in my seminar wouldn’t shut up about how cute her vintage dress was today, and I like her, and don’t want to fuck up any chance I might have by telling her that this whole vintage deal sounds like crap to me. And you dress a bit like her sometimes, so explain this whole vintage thing to me, please.” 

Cosette stifled a laugh. “I like vintage things. They’re pretty.” 

“Is that it?” Bahorel waved a hand. “Is that the whole _thing?_ You like it because it’s pretty?” 

She shrugged. “What more would there be?” 

“Okay, it’s like those steampunk nutters we saw last year –” 

“Hey!” Jehan snapped out of the conversation he was having with Bossuet and Chetta. “I thought they looked amazing.” 

“They looked like idiots,” Bahorel said bluntly. “Okay, I guess it’s this whole nostalgia for the past thing I don’t get. The past was crap. The present isn’t exactly sparkling either, but the past was even _worse_ for God’s sake! What’s so great about the twenties? Or the Victorian era?” 

“What do you mean?” Grantaire sat up and snorted. “What isn’t to love about restrictive societies and their complete disregard for anyone outside the social norm? I don’t know about you, but I think the way there used to be thousands of underage kids running the streets and starving to death is absolutely adorable.” 

Cosette relaxed against Éponine and listened to them talk, occasionally offering a snippet of her own opinion here and there, but mostly letting it wash over her. It was lovely, sitting in her new favourite café with everyone, bundled up in the warm with the freezing wind blowing outside, sharing a hot chocolate with Courfeyrac and letting Éponine persuade her to try her bitter coffee. Everyone laughed at the face she pulled, even Enjolras, who offered his coffee for her to taste next. It was even worse than Éponine’s – at least she had milk in hers. 

“Do you actually like this?” she gasped, fighting the urge to scrape at her tongue to remove the flavour. 

Enjolras took it back with a smirk. “You get used to it. It gets the caffeine in the system faster.” 

“But do you _like_ it?” 

He shrugged. “If I wanted to drink something tasty, I’d get whatever Jehan does.” 

Jehan grinned, slurping at his cream-loaded latte. “I make the best choices.” 

“You make the most sugary choices,” Enjolras corrected. “Which is why Combeferre keeps trying to ration your intake.” 

Jehan sniffed. “I’ll have as much sugar in my tea as I want.” 

The door of the Musain opened and Courfeyrac cried out, “Speak of the devil!” as Joly and Combeferre came in, swaddled in scarves against the biting wind. 

“Were you talking about us?” Joly sat on the edge of Bossuet’s chair, leaning forward to let Chetta unwind his scarf to reveal a smile. 

“About Combeferre’s war on Jehan’s impending diabetes,” Courfeyrac grinned. 

Cosette scooched along the sofa to make room for Combeferre to sit down, ending up practically in Éponine’s lap. Grantaire huffed and lifted his legs up to drape them over their knees, toeing his boots off at Bahorel’s insistence. 

Éponine spoke against Cosette’s hair, and Cosette could hear the smile in her voice. “Combeferre tried switching Jehan’s sugar out for sweeteners once, but Joly had a fit.” 

“Do you know what they put in artificial sweeteners?” Joly said fretfully. “It’s disgusting.” 

“Now you’ve done it,” Combeferre muttered, and Courfeyrac laughed. 

“You should have known better!” Joly pointed at him. “Aspartame has hideous side-effects! And God only knows what the full effects of dichlorofructose in the human system are.” 

“What’s dichloro-thingy again?” Jehan asked. Bahorel and Grantaire groaned. 

“Dichlorofructose is what sucralose breaks down into,” Joly informed them. “And sucralose causes quite enough problems on its own. Skin rashes, diarrhoea, migraines, stomach aches, panic – I could go on!” 

“I think that’s more than enough.” Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Thank you.” 

Cosette could feel Éponine’s laughter through her own body, and something pleasant fizzed in the pit of her stomach. Struck with sudden daring, she took Éponine’s right hand in her left, holding it up to see the nails. “I love this colour. Could I borrow it at some point?” 

“Sure,” Éponine said, smiling when Cosette looked at her. “No problem.” 

Cosette smiled in return, and didn’t let go of Éponine’s hand, keeping their fingers lightly entwined across her stomach, hidden behind the rise of Grantaire’s legs. Éponine had lovely hands, with short, trimmed nails that really were painted a lovely colour – a sort of shimmery dark blue that made Cosette think of the night sky. Éponine didn’t make any move to pull away, and Cosette settled comfortably against her, more at ease than she had been for ages. 

When the Musain closed they moved amiably to the Corinthe, which wasn’t far away, and when their shifts ended Marius and Feuilly joined them there (they had jobs at the same restaurant). Cosette had work she needed to do – a paper on eighteenth century music in France to read in preparation for the essay she hadn’t started writing yet, a worksheet for her harmony class due on Friday, and she needed to practice the new piece she’d been given by her violin tutor for next week. But despite that she couldn’t bring herself to leave the group – she was enjoying herself too much. 

And she was discovering how much of her enjoyment came down to being around Éponine. She loved Éponine’s sarcasm and wit, especially the way she seemed to so easily walk the line between funny and biting. She refused to take the shot Grantaire gave her and stuck to her wine instead, lips soft on the glass rim, eyes rolling when Grantaire took her shot back and admonished her for not participating. She danced with Feuilly when Courfeyrac put _Valerie_ on the jukebox, the two of them twisting and looping between the tables with effortless grace. 

“Cosette, dance!” Jehan grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the bar, twirling her under his arm with a grin. 

“I don’t know how!” she protested, and he shook his head. 

“It’s easy, watch Éponine.” 

Cosette tried, but her feet couldn’t copy the quick, dainty movements Éponine and Feuilly seemed to be making up as they went along. Éponine saw and laughed, hair coming out of its twisted bun. “Like this,” she said, coming to stand next to Cosette and demonstrating the kick and flick Cosette had been trying to do. 

Without his partner, Feuilly grabbed Jehan instead, and the others laughed as he led Jehan away in an elaborate ballroom routine. 

Cosette laughed helplessly as her hands refused to obey her brain (possibly due to the Tilters she’d had – the cocktail had definitely grown on her), and Éponine giggled and came to stand behind her, holding her close against her body. “Like this,” she said in Cosette’s ear, taking her wrists in her hands and putting her feet behind Cosette’s, moving her slowly and gently like a puppet. Kick with the right leg and flick with the left arm. Kick with the left leg, flick with the right arm. They repeated it until Cosette had the rhythm of it stuck in her rebellious limbs, and before Éponine could slip away, she took the opportunity to tilt her head up and kiss her on the cheek. 

Éponine stepped back, a blush rising on her cheeks, but Cosette hardly noticed. She grabbed Éponine’s hand and pulled her in as the song played on. “Your partner stole my partner!” she grinned. “Dance with me!” 

Courfeyrac cheered them on from the bar, and Éponine made a show of reluctance but didn’t try to get away as Cosette put an arm around her waist and laughed against her neck, their clasped hands stretched out to the side and bodies swaying ridiculously until Éponine took charge and spun Cosette out and back against her body, laughing despite herself. 

“Ten points for the girls!” Bossuet shouted. Not to be outdone, Jehan dipped Feuilly back until his head almost touched the floor before pulling him up again, and Bossuet crowed. “Fifteen points for the boys!” 

“We can beat them, come on!” Cosette giggled. Éponine nodded and twirled Cosette with one hand several times, making her skirt flare out with the motion. Suddenly she stopped and bent Cosette backwards, a hand steady on the small of her back holding her up. 

“Twenty points to the girls!” 

By the time the song ended no one had any idea which couple had been awarded the most points, and Cosette was dizzy from the dancing and breathless with laughter. 

Bossuet, Joly, and Chetta insisted on walking her back to her house, and Cosette didn’t argue – she didn’t feel entirely steady on her feet, and she was glad for the company. Falling into bed felt heavenly, and though the thought of all the work she hadn’t done yet was daunting, she didn’t regret the night at all. And being so close to Éponine had been exhilarating. Exciting and fun and _easy_. No friendship had ever come so easily to Cosette, and she loved it. She loved Éponine. 

She fell asleep smiling, but woke up unsettled. She’d dreamed of the first school she’d gone to after her father had adopted her; an all-girls Catholic school a short bus journey outside their town. Much like the one she’d attended up until university, but she’d only been there for a semester for some reason. Like all the memories close to her time in care, it was a little fuzzy. 

She was ill at ease all day, worrying at the hazy, half-formed memories as they surfaced, irritated at their lack of clarity. She had to read the paper on eighteenth century music in France twice before any of it sank in, and her fingers were sloppy on the keys of the piano and the strings of her violin. It took her far longer than usual to relax into the serene state of mind that usually accompanied her practicing, and even then she wasn’t entirely calm. Finally, at her wit’s end, she called her father. 

He picked up quickly, as always, and greeted her warmly. “Cosette, how are you?” 

She smiled, pushing herself up to sit on the counter in her tiny kitchen. “Hi, papa. I’m fine – how’s your day been?” 

“Ah, the usual paperwork and peace-making. Tristain – you remember Tristain? His daughter was just accepted for a scholarship program in America, can you believe it?” 

“That’s wonderful!” Cosette leaned over to put the kettle on. “She must be over the moon! What’s her name again? Odette?” 

“Yes, Odette. Tristain seems to be more excited than she is – I don’t think I’ve seen anyone prouder.” 

They chattered about Tristain and her father’s other co-workers for a while before Cosette finally brought up the reason she’d called, trying to slip it into the conversation as easily as possible. “Do you remember the first school I went to, papa?” 

“St Sophia’s?” 

“Was that what it was called? The one before St Regina’s?” 

“Yes, I think so. What about it?” 

“Oh, it was just in my head for some reason today. I wasn’t there for long, was I?” 

“Only a semester. It didn’t agree with you, so I moved you to St Regina’s instead. You had a much better time there.” 

“I didn’t have a good time at St Sophia’s?” 

“You don’t remember?” 

“Not clearly.” 

“Oh.” He paused. “Well, perhaps that’s for the best.” 

Cosette clutched the phone against her ear. “What do you mean? What happened at St Sophia’s?” 

“Oh, nothing dramatic.” He made a good effort to sound careless. “You just didn’t get on with the girls there, that’s all.” 

“Rachel,” Cosette remembered suddenly. Rachel – a little girl with tanned skin and dark eyes, and wavy black hair that fell in soft curls over her shoulders. Rachel...Rachel something. She couldn’t remember her last name. How had she forgotten Rachel? 

“Yes, I think there was a girl called Rachel. It doesn’t matter now though, does it?” 

“Do you remember any of the other girls?” Cosette asked him, the need to know suddenly all-consuming. 

“Sorry, Cosette. It was a long time ago.” 

They had called her names, Cosette recalled, her blood running cold. They had avoided her and taunted her. “Did they bully me?” 

Her father sighed. “I think something along those lines happened. The point is, you were unhappy, so I transferred you. St Regina’s was much better for you. You had much better friends there, like Bernadette and Eloise.” 

Friends she rarely spoke to anymore. Girls she no longer had much in common with. They had been practically inseparable at school, yet she couldn’t remember exactly why. She couldn’t remember what they’d talked about or scribbled on the hundreds of notes they’d passed each other in class, and she had no idea what she would say to them now if she bumped into them. They’d all gone in different directions after school, and that was simply the way it was. 

“Yes,” she murmured, wondering if she would have been closer friends with Rachel if she’d stayed at St Sophia’s. 

“Are you having trouble remembering?” her father asked. “Cosette?” He’d arranged for her to see a child therapist after he’d adopted her because she’d had nightmares and wet the bed; left-over anxiety from her time in care. He was still easily worried. 

“I’m fine.” She shook herself out of it and reached for the cup of tea she’d made – it was now lukewarm. “It just popped into my head today for some reason, like I said.” 

“You’re feeling alright, aren’t you?” 

She smiled. “Yes, papa, I’m fine. I promise. Have you decorated the church for Christmas yet?” 

He could probably tell that she was trying to distract him, but he went along with it, and for the next few minutes until they said their goodbyes they talked about normal things. The church, the Christmas fundraiser her father was working on, and the approaching holidays. Ordinary subjects totally unrelated to her indistinct childhood memories. 

Memories which came trickling to the forefront of her mind after she hung up, focusing on the image of Rachel she had in her mind and trying to remember the names and faces of the other girls in her class at St Sophia’s. There had been a pair of brunettes and a ginger, she thought. Was one of them called Maura? She couldn’t remember. 

Why had they bullied her? 

“Shut up, brain,” she muttered, sliding down from the countertop and going to the sink to wash out her mug. She needed to take her mind off things. It was only six – before she could think about it she had pulled her phone out to text Éponine. 

Cosette: Anything going on tonight? 

Éponine: Nothing special. You bored? 

Cosette: I guess. 

Éponine: G and C have decided 2 do a cannibal lecter marathon if ur interested? 

Cosette: You mean Hannibal Lecter? 

Éponine: Hannibal the cannibal. 

Éponine: Everything is people. 

Cosette giggled. 

Cosette: Sounds good 2 me. When should I come over? 

Éponine: Now? Want me 2 walk u? 

Cosette rolled her eyes. 

Cosette: I’m perfectly capable of walking 2 urs without being mugged. 

Éponine: Tell that 2 the mugger. I’ll pick u up. 

Cosette: I’m leaving now! 

Éponine: Then I’ll meet u halfway. 

Cosette grabbed her bag and pulled her coat on, still not sure whether to be touched or annoyed by the overprotective streak everyone seemed to develop around her. It wasn’t like she was completely incapable of defending herself, after all. 

It was still embarrassing when her first reaction to Éponine leaping out of an alleyway towards her was to scream and leap away before whipping her keys out of her pocket. 

“Relax!” Éponine held her hands up and grinned, stepping into the light. “It’s just me.” 

“Oh my god!” Cosette clutched her heart and exhaled heavily. “Never do that again. You scared the crap out of me!” 

“Just testing your reflexes.” Éponine reached out and took her elbow gently, guiding her back onto the pavement. “Glad you went for your keys instead of trying to run though.” 

“I can’t believe you,” Cosette grumbled. “That was a horrible trick to play.” 

“I’m sorry.” Éponine didn’t sound apologetic at all, but Cosette let it slide. “Better safe than sorry.” 

“How come you’re allowed out on your own but I’m not?” 

Éponine smiled darkly. “I’ve had practice fending off attackers, and I’m not easily startled.” 

Cosette raised her eyebrows. “Practice? What do you mean? Practice how?” 

Éponine pulled a face. “I live in a pretty rough neighbourhood. Lived, I mean – at home. My family lives in a rough neighbourhood. My parents...” she hesitated, then looked forward and carried on. “My parents own a pub. It’s called The General’s Saviour.” 

“The General’s Saviour?” Cosette frowned. “That sounds familiar. I don’t...would I have been there?” 

Éponine seemed to shrink into herself. “Not recently. It’s not exactly a nice place.” 

Maybe it was the fact that she’d been dredging through fuzzy memories all day, but the name kept ringing in Cosette’s head. “Are you sure? Not about it not being a nice place, I mean, just...God, I could swear I’ve been to a pub with that name. Is it common?” 

Éponine practically cringed. “Not really. I’ve never heard of another pub with that name.” There was a long pause, and then Éponine stopped and grabbed Cosette’s arm. “Oh, fuck it. Cosette, I should tell you.” 

Cosette stared at her, noticing the anxious expression on Éponine’s usually confident face. Her brown eyes were black in the dark, and she was biting her lower lip, teeth digging into the soft flesh. “Tell me what?” 

“When you were little, you said you were in care, remember?” Éponine looked down, then seemed to steel herself and met Cosette’s eyes again. “When you said to Feuilly...about the pub with the couple who already had kids?” 

Cosette couldn’t speak, but everything suddenly clicked in her head – The General’s Arms, the thin husband and the loud wife, and the kids...two little girls around her age with far nicer clothes, and a baby in a cot that wouldn’t stop crying. 

“Cosette?” Éponine’s gloved fingers flexed towards Cosette’s hand, but then she seemed to think the better of it and shoved them in her pockets instead. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said before, but I didn’t want to fuck things up –” 

“Thénardier,” Cosette interrupted her, the name gaining new significance. “Monsieur and Madame Thénardier. They were...they _are_ your parents?” 

“I wish they weren’t.” Éponine stepped back and looked away. “I really do, I swear. They’re not nice people, I know that, but I was just a kid then. I mean, I know that’s not an excuse, but –” 

Cosette cut her off with a hug, wrapping her arms around Éponine tightly and squeezing her eyes shut. “Don’t,” she said against Éponine’s scarf. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Cosette...I was such a shitty kid.” 

“You were just a kid. I’ve had worst foster families than yours, believe me –” 

“Christ, Cosette, that’s not a good thing!” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Cosette pulled away slightly and waited for Éponine to look at her, smiling as reassuringly as she could when she did. “We’re friends now. It doesn’t matter what we were like in the past.” 

Éponine licked her lips, still nervous. “Are you sure? I mean, I just feel so bad about it, and I know I shouldn’t’ve waited so long to say anything, but like I said I didn’t want to mess everything up.” 

“You haven’t,” Cosette said firmly. “I don’t care. I don’t remember much anyway. Was there a baby?” 

“When you were with us?” Éponine seemed startled, then she nodded. “That must’ve been Gavroche. My little brother. He's fourteen now." 

“And your sister’s Azelma, right?” Cosette started walking again and Éponine followed suit automatically. 

“Yeah. She’s only a couple of years younger than me. Are you...are you sure you’re not pissed off?” She looked worriedly at Cosette, who smiled and shook her head. 

“Of course not.” And she really wasn’t, she knew. She was surprised, but more pleased than anything – she hadn’t been lying when she said that the Thénardiers hadn’t been the worst foster family she’d been placed with (that award went to the Cottilards, who had returned her to the care home for Christmas because Christmas was for family, and family didn’t include foster kids), and this meant that her connection to Éponine ran deeper than she’d thought. 

“You are actually perfect,” Éponine sounded both confused and awestruck. “Like an angel or something ridiculous like that.” 

Cosette smiled and linked her arm through Éponine’s. “I thought you were my guardian angel? Protecting me from muggers and other unsavoury characters.” 

“I’ll be your watchdog.” Éponine’s lips quirked, and Cosette laughed, pleased that she was relaxing at last. “I can’t be an angel if I’m _one_ of the unsavoury characters, after all.” 

“An archangel,” Cosette smiled. “They’re the avenging warrior types.” 

“So you’re a cherub or something?” 

“Maybe a seraph. Sounds less cutesy, don’t you think?” 

“Less naked child, more veiled lady?” 

“Mmm, I like that.” 

“Thought you would.” Éponine caught her eye. “The others already know. Marius, Grantaire, and Courfeyrac, I mean, no one else. I sort of blurted it out to them. Do you mind?” 

Cosette shook her head. “It’s fine, Ponine, honestly. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I didn’t exactly help you though.” 

“So what? It all turned out okay. Hey, I know how you can make it up to me.” She grinned at Éponine’s wary expression. 

“How?” 

“Make me some pancakes. Marius mentioned that your pancakes are delicious, and I’m kind of peckish now.” 

Éponine smiled. “What kind of pancakes?” 

“Chocolate ones? Lemon and sugar? Banana? Ooh, are ice-cream pancakes possible?” 

Éponine’s eyes twinkled. “I think we should find out. To the shop!” 

Cosette laughed and held on tight to Éponine’s arm as they started to run, happier than she had been all day. So what if Éponine’s parents had been cold and unkind? At least her father had stuck around. Cosette didn’t have a clue who her biological father was. Parents weren’t all they were cracked up to be. 

Éponine’s hair escaped from under her scarf and a few curls brushed Cosette’s face, warm from being so close to Éponine’s skin. They smelled of sweet shampoo and Cosette leaned closer, wanting more, when suddenly they were inside the shop. Under the fluorescent lights, Éponine’s cheeks were rosy, and Cosette was certain her own nose was bright pink. 

“Come on,” Éponine said, a little breathless. “Let’s get ice-cream for your pancakes.” 

“The ice-cream is people,” Cosette said mischievously, and Éponine’s answering laugh made her heart swell.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the show finally happens!

Éponine took deep breaths and ran over her lines for the hundredth time in her head. Knowing that the boys were out there made this whole ordeal so much worse. And she still didn’t know what Cosette was doing for her solo – during the dress rehearsal yesterday Cosette had told Jean-Baptiste and Roxanne to make sure Éponine kept her fingers in her ears and her back to the stage the whole way through. It was infuriating, but Cosette was so charming no one stood a chance of arguing with her, least of all Éponine. She was the most enchanted of them all. 

“Ponine!” Cosette appeared next to her, bubbling with excitement. “My father’s here. Do you want to meet him afterwards? I’ve told him so much about all of you – he’d love to see you for real.” 

“Sure,” Éponine heard herself say. “That sounds great.” 

“Brilliant.” Cosette darted up and kissed her on both cheeks. “Are you nervous?” 

“Shitting myself,” Éponine admitted, feeling her cheeks tingling where Cosette’s lips had been. “I swear, if the boys tease me for this –” 

“We’ll tell them not to.” Cosette shrugged and touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. You won’t even be able to see them.” 

“Christ, I can’t believe they all bought tickets,” Éponine groaned. “Even Enjolras! I mean, what the hell does _Enjolras_ care about this show?” 

“You’re his friend and you’re in it?” Cosette suggested. “And he does support the arts, he told me. He doesn’t appreciate them the way others do, but he supports them.” 

“The freak.” 

“Relax.” Cosette smiled and hugged her. “Combeferre will keep them all in line.” 

“Small mercies.” 

“Yep. You’ll be fine. At least you’re only in one thing.” 

“Are you nervous?” Éponine pulled back and frowned. Cosette looked fine. 

“Only about my solo. I’ve never had to close a show before.” 

“If you’d let me see the dress rehearsal I could tell you for sure you’ll be fine,” Éponine teased, “but since you insisted on keeping me away –” 

“I want it to be a surprise!” Cosette protested. Éponine laughed. 

“I know, I’m not serious. You’ll be perfect.” 

“Just like you.” Cosette smiled sunnily and turned her head as someone called her name. “I’ll be right back.” 

Éponine watched her slip away and sighed. For all her noble intentions, she couldn’t stop following Cosette’s lead in their friendship, and Cosette guided the way with hugs and smiles and casual contact that was driving Éponine mad. At least she was relatively certain that no one else had any idea, and at least if anyone did they were keeping it to themselves. Most importantly, Marius didn’t know. Even if Cosette was flirting with her (which Éponine was miserably sure she wasn’t), there was no way that anything could happen – Éponine would never want to do anything that would hurt Marius. 

Cosette returned to her side a moment later, and they waited in the strictly-enforced silence in the wings as the choir opened the show. Their Macbeth piece was quite early in the running, and Éponine mouthed her lines with Jean-Baptiste and Roxanne one last time before they stepped out onto the dark stage. 

She was cold all over, the remote pack for the microphone an uncomfortable weight on the waistband of her trousers. She squatted centre-stage behind the cauldron – a plastic thing from Halloween – and allowed herself a quick glance to the right. 

Cosette was already holding her violin ready, bow steady in her hand. Her shape was cloaked in shadow, but she obviously saw Éponine looking because the hand holding her bow paused suddenly, the thumb rising for a moment in a silent gesture of encouragement. 

Then Roxanne tapped her foot three times – the signal they had agreed on – and Cosette’s opening note hummed as light burst onto the stage. There wasn’t time for hesitation or doubts. Éponine tilted her head like a cat as Jean-Baptiste crept towards her and hissed, “Where hast thou been, sister?” 

Their little scene wasn’t long, and almost before Éponine knew it she was back in the wings having her mic removed by a harried-looking technician. Cosette found her on the stairs leading towards the dressing rooms. “You were wonderful!” she whispered, throwing an arm around Éponine in a quick embrace. “Told you so!” 

Éponine grinned weakly, losing her chance to reply as Cosette slipped back up the stairs, hurrying to get back in time for the band to go on. Roxanne beckoned from the bottom of the stairs and Éponine followed her. They could go now, technically; the participating students were allowed to watch the show from the back of the theatre once they were done, and Éponine cleaned the thick stage make-up from her face as quickly as possible. She just got to the auditorium in time for the band to come on, and she picked out Cosette’s golden hair immediately among the other musicians. 

The band played a classical piece Éponine vaguely recognised, and a medley of movie themes, closing the first half to a standing ovation. Courfeyrac found her at the interval and swept her up in a hug that made her squeak with surprise.  “You were great! Why didn’t you tell us you could act!” 

“I would’ve thought the fact that I take Drama would be clue enough,” she said dryly. “Put me down?” 

He sighed and obeyed, but slipped an arm around her waist and pressed an affectionate kiss to her hair instead of letting her go completely. “Jehan was very impressed – you know how he feels about Shakespeare.” 

“The bard,” Éponine grinned. “Where is he?” 

“Getting a drink with Grantaire and the others. I was sent on Éponine-tracking duty. But I’ve found you, and that means we owe you congratulations!” 

Grantaire and Bahorel were ready to tease, but a smack from Jehan shut them up faster than anything Éponine could’ve done. “You don’t disrespect art,” he said sharply. “If you can’t appreciate it, at least be smart like Enjolras and keep your plebeian mouths shut.” 

“But Enjolras is boring,” Bahorel whined. Enjolras rolled his eyes and sipped at his water. 

“Cosette was good too, wasn’t she?” Feuilly said. “I didn’t know she played the violin.” 

“She plays five instruments,” Marius told him. “She was playing the flute in the band just now, didn’t you see?” 

“How many things is she in?” Feuilly looked at the program. 

“She’s closing the show, actually,” Éponine said. “She’s got a solo piece.” 

“Wow, whoever’s in charge must really like her.” 

“Or they just recognise talent when they see it,” Éponine shrugged. “We’d better go back in – it starts again in five minutes.” 

“We could squeeze together if you want to sit with us,” Musichetta offered, but Éponine shook her head. 

“I’m good at the back with the rest of the Drama students. You go ahead.” 

As the second half progressed, Éponine found herself scanning the crowd, looking for Cosette’s father. A ridiculous enterprise, since she had no idea what he looked like or how old he was, and she couldn’t even look for any family resemblance because they weren’t actually related by blood, but it didn’t stop her wondering. Who was the man who had rescued Cosette from horrible places like her parents’ pub and put her on the path she was on now? A gifted Music student with an open heart and a voice like a bird’s. Who had lifted her out of her childhood misery and given her wings? 

Éponine forgot all about the mystery father when Cosette finally walked out onto the stage and sat down at the grand piano. There were a few seconds of silence as she settled down, and then she started to play, a sequence of warm, clear notes that rang out through the hall. Her voice, when she opened her mouth to sing, was low and beautiful. 

“I’m nothing special, in fact, I’m a bit of a bore.” Her hair shone like spun gold under the lights, and the audience was utterly silent, spellbound. “When I tell a joke, you’ve probably heard it before.” Even from her place at the very back of the auditorium, Éponine could see the slight curve of Cosette’s lips as she smiled. “But I have a talent, a wonderful thing, cause everyone listens when I start to sing, I’m so grateful and proud. All I want is to sing it out loud, so I say thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing. Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing. Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty, what would life be? Without a song or a dance, what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it to me.” 

Her voice trilled, strong and bright, and her fingers were gentle and sure on the keys of the piano in front of her. Éponine could hardly breathe, completely enraptured. Cosette was beautiful, a true angel lighting up the whole room, and the longing that simmered constantly in Éponine’s chest threatened to choke her as she gazed, captivated, on the face of the girl she couldn’t have. 

Innocent, oblivious, Cosette sang on, seeming to be suddenly vulnerable. “I’ve been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair. I want to sing it out to everybody.” The music swelled as her voice rose, soaring joyfully through the air. “What a joy, what a life, what a chance!” 

Éponine swallowed around the lump in her throat and refused to allow a single tear to fall from her eyes. She was stronger than that. When Cosette finished, fingers stilling at last on the keys, there was a full second of awestruck silence before the applause began, the audience rising to their feet in appreciation. They adored her, and Éponine could hardly blame them. She clapped until her palms went numb, her cheeks aching from smiling, her throat burning from holding back tears. 

This was ridiculous. She didn’t get this emotional about _anything_. How could this be happening to her? 

When the lights went up, she milled around in the foyer with the boys and Musichetta. Any other time she was feeling this crappy, she would’ve made Courfeyrac cuddle her, but she couldn’t let any of them twig that she was feeling so bad because of her unrequited crush, so she stood tall on her own and pretended with the ease of practice to be totally fine. 

“Guys!” Cosette danced over and was almost crushed as Courfeyrac, Jehan, Musichetta, and Bossuet bowled into her, all trying to hug her at the same time. Éponine laughed despite herself, and only noticed the man lingering in the background when Cosette untangled herself and beckoned him over. “Everyone, this is my father. Papa, this is everyone.” 

Monsieur Fauchelevent was a tall, strong-looking man with greying hair and kind eyes. He nodded to them and murmured, “I’ve heard so much about all of you, and your society.” 

“Nothing too bad, I hope,” Combeferre smiled. 

“Only one,” Monsieur Fauchelevent’s lips quirked. “I hear that a demonstration you staged last year stopped Cosette getting into the Music department’s buildings.” 

“Not our intention, I assure you,” Combeferre glanced at Enjolras. “We aim more to spread awareness than disruption.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Bahorel smirked. 

“You’ve raised a wonderful daughter,” Musichetta intervened before Bahorel could really put his foot in it. 

Monsieur Fauchelevent’s eyes lit up and he smiled brightly at Cosette. “Thank you. I’m very proud of her.” 

“So are we,” Jehan grinned. “And Éponine as well, did you see her?” He put his arm around Éponine’s shoulders, turning her to face Cosette’s father. 

“Yes,” he nodded, recognition dawning on his face. “You were one of the witches, weren’t you?” 

“Unfortunately,” she pulled a face. 

“You were very good,” he assured her. “Cosette talks about you non-stop.” 

“ _Does_ she?” Musichetta sounded very interested, and Éponine wondered, horrified, if the other girl had somehow picked up on Éponine’s feelings. 

“The rest of you also,” Monsieur Fauchelevent nodded. “It’s been a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ll bring the car around,” he told Cosette. “Five minutes?” 

“Thank you, papa,” she smiled, and Éponine remembered suddenly that Cosette was leaving for the holidays now, catching a lift home with her father. And Courfeyrac was leaving at the weekend, which meant her own Christmas dilemma was approaching – she hated being home, but she couldn’t leave Azelma and Gavroche on their own with their parents, especially when she had no excuse to stay away. 

“Talk about leaving on a high note,” Joly grinned. “You were amazing.” 

“Thank you, and thanks for coming as well. We appreciated the support, didn’t we, Éponine?” Cosette slid an arm round Éponine’s waist and she tried valiantly not to have a heart attack. 

“Any witch jokes and I’ll vandalise your bedrooms,” she threatened. “I know where you live.” 

“Good thing Halloween’s over, isn’t it?” Courfeyrac winked. “You leaving now, Cosette?” 

“Uh huh. I’ll see you guys after Christmas.” 

“Feel free to drop by ours,” Marius offered. “Grantaire and I will be there.” 

“Me too, most likely,” Feuilly added. “It’s weird working in an empty flat.” 

“If I’m in town I’ll say hi.” Cosette hugged Marius, then Feuilly, making her way around the group. She even hugged Enjolras, who didn’t look as disgruntled as he usually did whenever someone tried to initiate physical contact without his express permission. She came to Éponine last, and hugged her for the longest. “I can’t wait to see you after the holidays.” 

“We’ll be having a New Year’s party,” Éponine told her. “Probably at the big flat. If you’re free, you should definitely come to that.” 

“I’d like to,” Cosette kissed her cheek and pulled away, “but I wouldn’t want to leave papa on his own. Happy Christmas anyway.” 

“You too.” Éponine watched Cosette’s retreating back as she walked away, and hoped desperately that she wasn’t too transparent. The last thing she needed was for Courfeyrac and Jehan to try their hands at match-making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've seen Mamma Mia, you'll know where I got the idea for Cosette's song. ;) But I think it really does fit Cosette well, and Amanda Seyfried sings it beautifully - you can listen to it on YouTube [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8e9VOG1yk8).


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cosette realises something and exchanges secrets with Combeferre.

Cosette hadn’t suspected that she was the type of person who sent mass-texts wishing everyone a merry Christmas, but when she actually had people to text, it turned out that she was. At least she wasn’t alone – she had expected similar displays from Jehan and Courfeyrac, but it was a pleasant surprise to get cheery replies from everyone except Grantaire, Enjolras, and Éponine. Marius had insisted that his text was from Grantaire as well, and Enjolras replied much later in the day, but she received no reply from Éponine until the evening of Boxing Day. 

Éponine: Sorry, lost my phone. Happy late Christmas! 

Cosette: Happy Boxing Day u mean. Xx 

Éponine: That 2. Get anything nice? 

Cosette: Books from papa, chocolates from church. U? 

Éponine: Booze from siblings. Got v drunk last night and tried staying up for santa. Which was a total bust btw if u were wondering. 

Cosette: When did u stop believing in Santa? 

Éponine: U MEAN HE’S NOT REAL??? 

Cosette: Ha ha! :P Seriously tho? 

Éponine: Seriously probs when I was about 4 or 5? I don’t think Gavroche ever believed in santa. 

Cosette: Me neither. Didn’t really have a decent xmas till papa adopted me. 

Éponine: That sucks. This xmas was pretty good, imo. 

Cosette: Definitely. I actually have people 2 text this year! 

Cosette: That sounded less pathetic in my head. 

Éponine: Nah I know what u mean. What u doing right now? 

Cosette: Watching movies with papa. U? 

Éponine: Walking next door’s dog. They go away every xmas so we take care of puppy. 

Cosette looked up as her father came in with a mug of tea for her. “Talking to Éponine again?” 

She smiled. “Maybe.” 

“Tell her I said happy Christmas then.” He settled down next to her on the sofa and sighed pleasantly. “Shall we start?” 

“Go for it.” They watched _The Snowman_ every Boxing Day – it was a tradition. 

Cosette: I have 2 go. Papa says happy xmas! 

Éponine: Tell him I said so 2. Later. 

Cosette: Xx 

Cosette missed them all terribly and wished for the holidays to end sooner, but still never considered for more than a guilty second leaving her father alone and joining them on New Year’s Eve. She smiled and accepted her father’s gentle kiss on her forehead when midnight struck, and halfway through the fireworks her phone buzzed – Courfeyrac calling. 

“Do you mind if I get this?” she asked her father, who smiled and waved her away. 

“I’ve taken you from your friends enough tonight, I think.” 

She frowned, but slipped out of the room to answer the phone. There was a great rush of noise when she did, almost loud enough to make her jump. “Cosette? Cosette! GUYS SHUT UP IT’S COSETTE!” 

Cosette giggled. “Having fun?” 

“We may be drinking on your behalf,” Courfeyrac made a valiant effort to sound serious, and failed when someone tried to steal the phone and he squeaked. “Hey, get off, it’s my phone! _Jehan!_ ” 

“We miss you loads!” Jehan said, laughing breathlessly. Cosette was pretty sure Courfeyrac was tickling him. “We – ahh, stop, okay, OKAY, I surrender! _I surrender!_ ” 

“Give it back, Jehan!” 

“Guys, not on the table!” 

Cosette bit her finger to stop herself laughing too loudly. “Get a room, you two!” 

“Give that here!” There was a bump and scrape, and suddenly Grantaire was on the line. “Heeeeyyyyyy, Cosette! Funny you should tell them to get a room since _Courfeyrac got with a guy and almost had sex on my bed yesterday!_ ” 

“Are you still going on about that?” Courfeyrac’s voice was distant. 

“I will never not go on about that!” Grantaire said, indignant. “If you ever get married, it’s the story I’ll tell at your wedding.” 

“If I get married, you’re not invited to my wedding!” 

“Did you hear that, Cosette?” Grantaire gasped in mock-pain. “How much cruelty can one man be expected to take?” 

“Give me my phone, Grantaire! Stop hogging Cosette!” 

“Éponine! Catch!” 

There was a rush of air and a muffled thud, and Cosette smiled as Éponine crooned into the phone. “Cosette! My lovely little lark! It’s not midnight anymore, but kisses anyway! I love you!” 

Cosette’s toes curled with pleasure. “I love you too,” she said, only realising as she spoke that she was whispering, as if it was something to be kept secret. 

“It’s not the same without you,” Éponine sounded more than a little drunk. “I wish you were here!” 

“Me too.” 

“You love me?” 

Cosette felt a smile break out across her face, something expanding in her chest. “Uh huh. I love you. Don’t forget to drink some water tonight, okay?” 

“You – hey!” Someone stole the phone, and Éponine shouted in the background. “I wasn’t finished! Rude!” 

“Stealing’s ruder than interrupting!” Courfeyrac yelled back. 

“Eat the rude!” someone bellowed – maybe Bahorel – and Cosette snorted. 

“I need to go, okay?” she said. “You guys have fun.” 

“We’re having so much fun,” Courfeyrac told her earnestly. “We miss you and we love you. Come back soon!” 

“I’ll see you in a week,” Cosette smiled. “Goodnight.” 

Someone started singing a drinking song in the background, and a couple of people shouted goodnight, their voices interrupted when Courfeyrac sang, “Night, Cosette!” and hung up. 

The cottage seemed so much quieter without everyone shouting in her ear, and Cosette held her phone in her hand for a moment, not going back into the living room just yet. Éponine’s, “I love you,” echoed in her mind, and Cosette bit her lip, glancing at her phone and scrolling quickly through to the photos. There were a lot of the group, candids mostly, and a lot of Éponine. More than she had realised. 

Éponine pulling a stupid face for the camera, Éponine from the side, caught unawares. Éponine with her mouth half-open, mid-speech. Éponine with her face half-hidden by unruly hair. Éponine’s hands curled around a mug of coffee in the Musain. Éponine walking beside her, smiling. Éponine in a shop, holding a dress in front of her to see what it looked like. Éponine looking up from tying her laces, a grin on her face. Éponine in her costume for the show. Éponine sticking her tongue out. 

Éponine, Éponine, Éponine. 

Cosette sucked in a deep breath and poked her head around the living room door. “Papa? I’m going to go to bed now.” 

He looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. “Alright. I’ll lock up – sleep well.” 

“You too.” She slipped in to kiss his cheek and went up to bed in a daze. 

She was in love with Éponine. 

The moment she thought it, she knew it was true. How long had it been true? Had it always been true, and she just hadn’t realised? 

This was what had happened with Rachel, she realised suddenly. She’d told her classmates...what? That she wanted Rachel to be her girlfriend? And they had turned on her, perhaps not only for that but it had surely been a large factor. 

Things were different now though, and Éponine wasn’t a schoolgirl. She liked girls too, and she was available. 

Cosette got ready for bed with her mind whirring, already thinking of ways to confess and get Éponine to go out with her – she’d never been the type to run away from what she wanted – but she knew there were other obstacles in the way she needed to deal with first. The possibility of hurting Marius was one. The possibility of Éponine honestly not liking her in that way was a bridge she would cross when she got to it. Another obstacle could be dealt with while she was at home. 

She approached the subject the next evening while she and her father were preparing dinner, both of them wearing swimming goggles while he cut the onions because they both cried easily. “Papa?” 

“Mm?” 

“I haven’t joined the ABC properly yet.” 

He looked at her, eyes partially hidden behind the foggy blue of the goggles. “I know.” 

“Well,” she bit her lip, making a bit of a show of her nerves. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about a couple of the things I’d be fighting for – figuratively speaking. Because you’re much more religious than me, and I just wanted to check, I suppose.” 

“What sort of things?” he asked mildly, going back to chopping the onion. 

“Gay rights.” She watched his hands carefully through her yellow-tinted goggles, but they never faltered. “Queer representation, that sort of thing? And a couple of my friends...well, you liked Courfeyrac and Jehan, didn’t you?” She twisted her fingers together, suddenly very aware of how desperately she needed her father to be alright with this. “And Courfeyrac’s bi, and Jehan says he’s pansexual, which means he likes everyone, I think, or something like that, and I –” 

“Cosette.” Damp hands curled around hers and her father waited for her to look up at him so that she could see his smile. “I like your friends. And I don’t believe love is, or should be restrained by physical boundaries. Love is love, and love is the greatest thing there is.” 

Relief crashed into her like a wave, and she gripped his hands tightly. “So you don’t mind?” 

“Of course not.” 

“What if –” She paused and frowned, hesitating. But she needed to know, so she pressed on. “I know you accept it in others, but...what if _I_ was...like that. I’m not saying I am, but if I was. If I liked another girl, or something.” _Very subtle, Cosette_. 

But her father just smiled again. “A great man, a man who changed my life, once told me that to love another person is to see the face of God. How could I begrudge my daughter loving anyone?” He put his hands either side of her face and tilted her head forward so that he could press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Also, I support any decision of yours that puts off getting a boyfriend.” She laughed. “Finish the carrots, and I’ll peel the potatoes. I love you, Cosette.” 

“I love you too, papa.” She tried to push down her joy, but it kept bubbling over in smiles and easy laughter. He was okay with it. More than okay. And that meant that the first obstacle was taken care of. 

She’d thought that everything would happen quickly when she got back to Paris, but it didn’t. She wasn’t scared exactly, but she was nervous. She didn’t want to mess anything up. So she didn’t kiss Éponine the moment she saw her, even though she really wanted to, and she didn’t tell her how she felt. Instead, she continued to dance around it for a week, stealing glances at Éponine from the corner of her eye and finding excuses to touch her and sit next to her. 

She knew she was being pathetic, and she hated it. 

To top it all off, two of the strings on her violin snapped, and the shop she usually went to was being refurbished, so she had to make the longer journey to another one called The Magic Flute. It looked small from the front, and old and dusty, but inside it was large, though low-ceilinged. Cosette smiled, pleasantly surprised by how lovely it was – the walls and floor were of dark wood, the display cases were clean, and someone was playing a piano near the back, around the corner and out of sight. 

“May I help you, mademoiselle?” 

“Oh!” Cosette jumped, and turned to see a middle-aged man standing behind her. “Oh, I’m fine, thank you. Could you just point out where the violin strings are?” 

“Of course. At the back over there.” He pointed and walked away soundlessly to stand behind the counter. 

“Thank you.” Cosette fought the urge to tip-toe as she approached the back of the shop. She found the strings she needed, and only hesitated for a moment before going to the corner and peeking around, wanting to see who was playing so beautifully. 

The player had his back to her, but she could see that he was a young man, neatly dressed with brown hair, and she frowned, sure that she knew him. He turned his head slightly as his fingers moved across the keys and her eyes widened as she saw the edge of a pair of glasses. 

Combeferre. 

 _Combeferre_ could play the piano, and play _well_ , and from memory. She watched in enchanted silence as he played on, the music sweet and melodic, a piece she didn’t recognise. In a word, she would have described it as _yearning_. His fingers were firm and certain on the keys, dancing over them swiftly, and his foot was gentle on the pedal. He finished in a major key, on a hopeful, uplifting note, and held the chord with the pedal long after his hands had fallen by his sides, not moving until it had faded into silence. 

He rose slowly, running a finger along the edge of the piano with a small smile before turning and freezing in place when he saw her. “Cosette.” 

“I didn’t know you could play,” she beamed. “You’re amazing! Do you do duets?” 

He made an obvious effort to relax and shook his head. “No, I...what are you doing here?” She held up the violin strings. “Oh, of course. Sorry.” He glanced behind him at the piano and then looked back at her. “Could I ask a favour?” 

“Of course.” 

“Could you keep this to yourself?” 

“The others don’t know you can play?” She frowned. “But you’re so good.” 

He shook his head. “It’s not a passion of mine. My parents wanted me to learn an instrument, so I learned piano. I know how to play a few pieces from memory, that’s all. Enjolras is the only one who knows. Apart from you, now.” 

“Why don’t you want anyone else to know?” 

He walked forward and led the way back to the front of the shop. “It’s not important. And they’d make such a big deal out of it and try to get me to play for them – I’m no good in front of an audience.” 

“You were excellent just now,” she protested, putting the strings on the counter and digging her purse out of her bag. 

“I didn’t know you were there,” he said gently. “Thank you, monsieur,” he added to the man behind the counter, who nodded and took Cosette’s money. 

The street outside seemed especially bright and airy after the quiet darkness of the music shop, and Cosette had a sudden idea. “Combeferre?” 

“Yes?” 

“If I keep this a secret, would you do something for me?” 

He looked at her, curious and not a little apprehensive. “What sort of thing?” 

“Just your opinion,” she assured him. “And for you to keep this conversation quiet as well.” 

He smiled. “I think I can do that. What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing’s the _matter_ exactly.” She hesitated and looked at the ground as they walked. “What do you think would happen if I wanted to date someone else in the ABC, after what happened with Marius?” She sneaked a glance at Combeferre – he looked surprised. 

“I suppose it would depend,” he said after a moment. “On who it was, I mean.” 

“But do you think it’d be bad?” she pressed, letting her worry show. “I don’t want to hurt him or mess anything up for anyone.” 

“Again, it would probably depend on who it was. But...I don’t think it would be a problem if it was handled well. You two didn’t date for long, and it’s been ages since you broke up. Two months or so now, yes?” 

“Yes. Almost three, actually.” 

“Exactly. And you two are friends now, right?” 

“I hope so.” 

“Then I don’t think it would be a problem. Though of course, like I said, it does depend on who it is. And if something does happen, I’d advise you to tell Marius before anyone else, just to check.” 

“I don’t even know if she feels the same way,” Cosette sighed. 

“She?” Combeferre raised his eyebrows, and Cosette stared at him, cursing mentally. “She...but Musichetta’s with...you like _Éponine?_ ” 

“I’ll tell everyone you can play the piano if you breathe a word!” she hissed, and he held his hands up. 

“My lips are sealed! Though...oh, things make sense now.” 

“What things?” 

“Just how close you two always are. You realise this could be more awkward than if you liked anyone else, don’t you?” At Cosette’s blank stare, he elaborated. “Because Marius and Éponine slept together last year and then she realised she was gay?” 

“Oh shit,” Cosette cursed. “I’d forgotten about that. What should I do?” 

Combeferre patted her shoulder. “Personally, I’m happy for you.” 

“I don’t even know if she likes me like that!” Cosette tried not to wail. 

“If she doesn’t, she’s doing a very good job of pretending she does,” Combeferre told her. “Anyone can see that she likes being with you. Take a chance. But if something does happen, like I said, I think you should talk to Marius first. Especially since it’s Éponine.” 

“I really don’t want to mess anything up,” she whispered. 

“You’ll be fine,” he said softly. 

“You won’t tell anyone will you?” 

“Of course not. And you won’t tell anyone that I can play the piano?” 

Cosette shook her head. “No. I think my problem is a lot bigger than yours though.” 

“You think so?” Combeferre said darkly. “You know how persistent Grantaire can be, and that’s _without_ the others egging him on. Let me paint you a picture – they find out I can play. I refuse to perform on command because I’m not actually their pet monkey. They make it their mission in life to bully me into doing it. They’ll borrow or steal your keyboard. They’ll play piano classics every time I walk into a room. They’ll email and text photos of pianos to me. Jehan and Bahorel will put pictures of pianos in my bedroom. Feuilly would probably help them because he’d think it’s funny. Grantaire will draw pianos on my notes if I leave them out. Jehan will write piano-themed _poetry_.” 

“Wouldn’t Enjolras help you?” Cosette stifled her smile at the images Combeferre was conjuring. 

“Enjolras wouldn’t want to risk his own neck. And he’d know if he got involved on either side it’d only encourage them.” 

“Fair enough.” Cosette threaded her arm through his and grinned up at him. “I won’t tell anyone. You really do play well though – you can play at mine whenever you want.” 

Combeferre smiled. “Thank you. I’m rarely in the mood, but thank you.” 

He left her to catch the métro to the library to meet Joly, and Cosette went back to hers alone, turning his words over in her mind. What had he said exactly? That if Éponine _didn’t_ like her, she was doing a good job of pretending that she did? Did that mean Éponine liked her back after all? 

She wanted to know, but it was one thing to say she would confess her feelings, and quite another to actually do it. Though in a way she had – they’d both told each other they loved each other on New Year. And Éponine had sounded earnest enough. But what if she was just being friendly? 

Cosette practiced scales she already knew and chewed on her lower lip fretfully, no longer sure how to proceed, though she knew she had to do something soon, if only for her own sanity. She was going over to the little house to see Éponine tomorrow – she would do something then. Whether it was blurt out how she felt or do something really stupid like grab her and kiss her, tomorrow was the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but I really like the idea of Combeferre just secretly being able to play piano. 
> 
> "To love another person is to see the face of God" is probably one of my all-time favourite quotes.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are satsumas and baking and everything comes together.

Éponine: How much do u love me? 

Marius: What do you want? 

Éponine: 2 know how much u love me? 

Marius: More than air. What do you want? 

Éponine: Well now u mention it, do u want some cake? 

Marius: Is that even a question???? 

Éponine: XD Pick up some eggs on the way back then? Cosette’s coming over and we’re making cupcakes. 

Marius: YES! Do you have food colouring left over? 

Éponine: Check. Want 2 help bake them? 

Marius: If you test me on my work at the same time. 

Éponine: Pay for the eggs and it’s a deal. 

Marius: SIGH. Fine. You're lucky I love you. 

Éponine: LOVE YOU MARIUS KISSES!!! UR MY FAVOURITE BARON! 

Marius: Shut up! 

Éponine: Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Marius: :P 

Éponine grinned at the screen of her phone and nudged Cosette, who was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, painting her toenails. “Marius is getting eggs, but we have to test him on his law stuff.” 

“Cool.” Cosette looked up at her and smiled, her hair falling across her face like a curtain. “Crap. Can you pull my hair back?” 

“Sure.” Éponine curled her fingers around it and swept it back over Cosette’s shoulder. It was as soft as it looked, and her fingers lingered on it for a moment longer than necessary. “I could tie it back for you, if you want?” 

“That’d be great.” Cosette gave her a beautiful smile. “Could you plait it?” 

“Uh huh. Do you have a hairband?” 

“Here.” Cosette put the lid and brush back in the bottle of nail varnish and held her wrist up. Éponine leaned across her and hooked a finger under the elastic, her knuckle brushing Cosette’s palm and fingers as she pulled it up and off. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

She’d never plaited anyone’s hair so slowly in her life, but she wanted to draw it out as long as possible. Her self-control was shot to hell at this point, tattered and ineffective against Cosette’s friendly touches and endless charm. 

“Girls!” Courfeyrac came thundering down the stairs. “Girls, you’re girls!” 

“Wow, you noticed?” Éponine tied off Cosette’s hair and looked over her shoulder at Courfeyrac, raising her eyebrows when she saw that he was shirtless. “How perceptive of you.” 

“Help me.” Courfeyrac held up two shirts. “Which one says, ‘I’d be happy to be your fuckbuddy, but not your boyfriend’ more?” 

“You are a walking tragedy,” Éponine told him frankly. 

“Cosette, you’re nicer.” Courfeyrac came into the living room and stood in front of them. “Help me.” 

Cosette laughed. “Why don’t you just tell her? Or him?” 

“She’s a girl. And I’ll do that if I have to, but most of what people say is communicated via body language and tone of voice, not what they actually say. Trust me – I’m an expert.” 

“At flirting, maybe,” Éponine teased. 

“What else would I use my knowledge for?” Courfeyrac snorted and held the shirts up again. “Quit getting off-topic. Help me, please?” 

“Um.” Cosette shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, I have no idea.” 

“Go for the grey one,” Éponine decided. “It looks more serious.” 

“But serious could infer that I want a relationship, which is the opposite of what I want,” said Courfeyrac. 

“Why don’t you want a relationship?” Cosette asked. 

“Because I’m a free spirit who doesn’t want to be tied down. Also, I have a bucket list of sexual fantasies I haven’t finished getting through yet.” 

“Walking tragedy,” Éponine said again, rolling her eyes. 

“Right, I’m wearing the blue one. Clearly you can’t be trusted, and I don’t even know why I’m asking you because you’ve always been useless when it comes to this stuff.” 

“Charming,” Éponine snorted. “No cakes for you later.” 

Courfeyrac’s face fell. “I take it back! You’re the best! You’re a princess!” 

Cosette giggled, and Éponine rolled her eyes again. “Oh my God, get _out_ , you slimy fuck.” 

“I love you!” 

“All I need now is for Grantaire to profess his adoration and I’ve got a complete set,” she muttered, sticking her tongue out at Courfeyrac as he scampered back upstairs. 

Cosette leaned her head against Éponine’s knee and looked back at her. “I love you too.” 

Éponine’s heart contracted and she ducked her head, pretending she was hiding a smile when all she wanted to do was scream. “Only because I lend you my nail varnish and braid your hair.” 

“That’s not true!” Cosette protested, coming to sit up on the sofa and pulling her bag onto her lap. “Though I have to admit, the nail varnish is a convincing factor.” She wiggled her newly-painted toes and grinned, pulling a tangerine from her bag and beginning to peel it. She hadn’t painted her nails yet, and the citrus smell reached Éponine’s nose a second after she dug one into the skin. Éponine watched in silent fascination as Cosette peeled carefully, turning the fruit in her palm as she went until she had removed the skin in one spiral strip. 

“Impressive,” Éponine said. 

Cosette smirked. “Thanks. If Jehan tries to tell you he taught me how to do that, ignore him. I’ve known for years.” She pulled the tangerine in half and separated a segment from the others to pop into her mouth. Éponine watched as she bit down on it and closed her eyes, her lips curving up in a satisfied smile. “Perfect. Hey, you want one?” 

“You sure?” 

“Of course. Here.” Cosette pulled off another segment and leaned forward, holding it up to Éponine’s face. Éponine smiled and opened her mouth obediently, heart pounding in her chest, and Cosette placed the segment carefully into her mouth. As she drew her fingers back, one brushed Éponine’s lower lip tenderly, and Cosette never looked away for a second. 

Éponine looked down and felt herself blush even as she bit into the tangerine segment. Sweet juice burst across her tongue, and Cosette laughed. “It’s delicious, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Éponine muttered. “Really nice.” Cosette _had_ to have done that on purpose, and that was definitely not friendly behaviour. It was over the border and into serious flirting territory; she wasn’t naïve enough to think otherwise. And there was an easy way to find out if it had been a mistake. “Can I have another one?” 

“Sure.” Cosette broke off another segment and held it up the way she had done before, to the level of Éponine’s lips. Éponine opened her mouth expectantly and held Cosette’s gaze as she pushed the tangerine slowly past her teeth. This time, it was Cosette’s cheeks that went a little pink, but she didn’t look away, and when she pulled back her finger it once again lingered on Éponine’s lower lip. 

Éponine felt like her skin was fizzing, the air around them charged with possibility. Just to see what Cosette would do, Éponine chewed the tangerine segment slowly, savouring the taste, and licked her lips. When Cosette’s eyes tracked the movement of her tongue, Éponine smiled, finally daring to hope. 

Most of what people said was communicated in their body language and their tone of voice, Courfeyrac had said. If that was the case, Éponine was pretty sure both of them were saying ‘kiss me’. 

The front door opened and Marius shouted, “I have eggs!” 

Cosette looked away. “We’re in here!” 

“Careful of your nails,” Éponine reminded her as she made to stand up. Cosette nodded and checked they were dry. 

“What would I do without you?” 

They made cupcakes together and took turns quizzing Marius on various law terms neither of them understood. When the cakes were put in the oven to bake, Marius took his work upstairs and Cosette disappeared as well to go to the bathroom. Éponine took the opportunity to start clearing up, turning up the radio and singing along as she filled the sink with hot, soapy water. She was over halfway through by the time Cosette came back. 

“Took your time,” she threw a smile over her shoulder. “Trying to get out of the washing up?” 

“No, I was talking to Marius.” 

“Yeah?” 

“There’s a girl on his course he’s got a crush on.” Cosette came to stand next to her and grinned. “He has no idea how to ask her out.” 

“Sounds familiar.” Éponine nudged her and kept scrubbing. 

Cosette edged closer and began to help, pressing herself against Éponine’s side from shoulder to knee. Their elbows bumped and they smiled at each other, but Éponine’s other hip was pressed against the corner of the countertop already, so there was nowhere to move, and Cosette wasn’t budging. And Éponine didn’t want her to. 

Cosette leaned her head for a moment on Éponine’s shoulder, and their hands touched under the water. “So,” she said casually, “how do you know if you’re a lesbian?” 

Éponine laughed and looked at her, but Cosette refused to meet her eyes, looking down instead with a small smile on her face. It looked almost nervous. 

“Like, you know, is it suddenly all girls, or what?” Cosette went on, studiously avoiding Éponine’s gaze. 

Éponine swallowed, laughter dying as she took in what Cosette was asking. Hidden under the suds, their fingers brushed again, and she struggled to find her voice. “Why do you ask?” 

“Well,” Cosette tilted her head and tried to sound casual. “I think...I think I’ve fallen for someone, but she’s a she, and I don’t...well, it might’ve happened before. The me falling for a girl thing, I mean, in school, but I was pretty young and I don’t really remember very much. And I don’t think it’s for all girls, just this one, so, um. Yeah.” 

Éponine concentrated on getting cake mixture out of the whisk, frowning. Cosette could be talking about anyone. But she had been so close, especially earlier with the tangerine. Next to her, Cosette scrunched up her face and sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong.” 

Éponine shook her head reflexively, not wanting Cosette to be upset. “Who’s the girl?” 

Cosette stared at her. “You don’t know?” 

Surely, _surely_ that had to mean what it sounded like? But it was always better not to assume, so Éponine smiled crookedly at her hands. “Someone I know?” 

“I thought I was being obvious,” Cosette laughed, and her fingers caught Éponine’s in the water and twined them together. “It’s you,” she said quietly. 

Éponine’s fingers tightened, and she turned to look at Cosette properly, a smile spreading across her face. “Me?” She couldn’t believe it – it was too good to be true, too much to take in. Cosette liked girls, liked _her_. 

Cosette squeezed her hand back and finally met her eyes. “You.” 

They were leaning towards each other, Éponine inclining her head down as Cosette tilted hers up, and Éponine was distantly aware of pulling her hands out of the water so that she could turn her body properly towards Cosette, who did the same and rested her hands on Éponine’s hips just as their lips met and Éponine’s eyes closed. 

It was worth the wait. It would be worth waiting years for this, Éponine thought, cupping Cosette’s face and pulling her close, neither of them caring that their hands were dripping wet. 

She was kissing Cosette. 

She was kissing Cosette and Cosette was kissing her back, hooking fingers in the belt loops of her jeans and tugging her closer. 

Desire flooded Éponine’s belly, and she moved her hands from Cosette’s face to her shoulders, walking her back until they hit the wall and Éponine could pin her there, holding her still and kissing her thoroughly, hard and hot and insistent until Cosette was making little noises against her mouth and twisting her fingers in Éponine’s belt loops to hold herself up. 

“Holy _shit!_ ” 

Éponine broke away and turned a furious glare on Courfeyrac, standing dumbstruck in the doorway. “Don’t you have a date to get to?” 

“You’re kissing,” he said faintly, eyes wider than Éponine had ever seen them. 

“You have a problem with that?” Cosette asked, only sounding a little breathless as one of her thumbs slipped up under Éponine’s shirt and rubbed a circle on her skin. 

“You’re _kissing!_ ” he said again. He couldn’t have sounded more shocked than if Enjolras had announced his decision to start a comedy club. “When did this happen?” 

“About five seconds ago.” Éponine slid her fingers into Cosette’s hair, not letting her move away from the wall. “You’re going to be late. You should _leave_.” 

Courfeyrac made an odd high-pitched noise in the back of his throat and slipped out of the kitchen, running back upstairs. Cosette giggled. “I think we broke him.” 

“I think I don’t care,” Éponine decided, and kissed Cosette again, humming happily as Cosette melted underneath her. Courfeyrac could spontaneously combust for all she cared because _she was kissing Cosette_. 

“You taste of cake mixture,” Cosette breathed, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Éponine’s mouth. 

“Is that good?” 

“It’s perfect. _You’re_ perfect.” 

Éponine curled a hand around the back of Cosette’s neck and kissed her and kissed her, never intending to stop. Cosette untangled her fingers from the belt loops and slid them round Éponine’s back, hugging her as close as possible, sliding a leg between Éponine’s and hooking their ankles together. Every movement was making Éponine dizzier, sending her to almost delirious levels of happiness. 

There was a sudden flash of light, and they broke apart to see Courfeyrac standing in the doorway again, his phone up in front of him. Éponine snarled, and only Cosette’s hand on her wrist stopped her going over and snatching the phone from Courfeyrac’s hand. He grinned. “If this is a thing that you two are doing, you won’t mind if I text everyone, right?” 

“Wait half an hour,” Cosette told him firmly. Éponine looked at her in surprise, but Cosette didn’t look away from Courfeyrac, who cocked his head. 

“Why?” 

“Half an hour,” Cosette repeated. “Then you can do what you like.” 

“You’re not going to send a mass-text of your own, are you?” 

“And steal your thunder?” Cosette grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Half an hour, okay? Okay?” she asked Éponine, more quietly. 

Éponine nodded, though she wasn’t really sure what she was agreeing to. “Okay.” 

“Girls are weird.” Courfeyrac said. “But you have a deal.” The timer for the cakes went off and he pointed at the oven. “Save me one of your lesbian cakes, yeah?” 

“Get out!” Éponine snapped, and he laughed as he left, locking the front door behind him. “So,” she turned back to Cosette and raised an eyebrow. “Half an hour?” 

“We should tell Marius first,” said Cosette. “Don’t you think?” 

Éponine nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess.” 

“Better than finding out from a text and a photo of us kissing in your kitchen,” Cosette smiled and slid out from under Éponine, going over to put the oven gloves on. “Get the tray ready?” 

“We’re going to break the news with cake?” Éponine smiled slightly and Cosette nodded. 

“Everything’s better with cake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satsumas/clementines/tangerines = the fruit for sharing. I love all types of tiny orange. :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are mass texts and an ending.

Cosette wanted, very much, to scream, sing, and possibly do a dance, not necessarily in that order. She had kissed Éponine. She’d taken the initiative, beaten down the mind-numbing terror she hadn’t realised would accompany what basically amounted to a declaration of love, and kissed Éponine. And then proceeded to be utterly ravaged by Éponine’s far more experienced mouth, which was just _glorious_. 

She sneaked a glance at Éponine as they walked up the stairs and grinned when she caught Éponine doing the same. They both paused mid-step and Cosette reached out instinctively, tangling their fingers together. 

“You’re okay with Courfeyrac sending that photo out, right?” she asked, just to check. 

Thankfully, Éponine nodded and smiled, seeming to be almost shy all of a sudden. “I might ask for a copy if he doesn’t send it to us as well.” 

Cosette fought the urge to do something extremely undignified, like squeak or flail a bit, and instead leaned in for another kiss. Kissing Éponine was her new favourite thing. Being allowed to press herself up against Éponine’s front was amazing too, as was being able to smooth her palms down the beautiful curve of Éponine’s back from her shoulders to the waistband of her jeans. She wanted to know what the same motion would feel like without Éponine’s shirt in the way. 

“Marius, remember?” Éponine whispered when they broke apart for a second, lips wet and breathing loud in the silence. 

Cosette nodded. Marius. She still wasn’t entirely sure how to handle that conversation. “You know him better,” she murmured, finding Éponine’s hand again and holding on tight. “What should we say?” 

“It was your idea,” Éponine reminded her. 

“I know, but I don’t know what to say!” 

“Say what?” The door to Marius’ bedroom opened and he looked down at them curiously. “Are the cakes ready?” 

“Oh! Yeah – do you want one?” Cosette asked. Marius smiled. 

“I helped make them, so I think I deserve a couple.” 

They went downstairs together, and Cosette exchanged an anxious look with Éponine behind Marius’ back as she put the still-warm cupcakes on a couple of plates. “I think I’m gay,” she blurted out, and almost clapped her hands over her mouth as soon as she’d spoken. She looked around to see both Éponine and Marius staring at her. Éponine looked torn between nervousness and laughter, her teeth firmly anchored in her lower lip. Marius just looked surprised, then resigned. 

“You too?” he sighed, looking over his shoulder at Éponine and then back to Cosette. “I know this probably has nothing to do with me, but this is two girls in a row now. Am I cursed?” 

Éponine stifled a giggle and shook her head when he looked at her despairingly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“Well.” He looked at Cosette and shrugged. “Congratulations, I guess? How long have you known?” 

Cosette thought of Rachel and shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe a while, maybe not. Um, there’s something else as well, Marius.” 

“Are the cakes poisoned?” 

Éponine smiled and went over to hug him, tucking her head under his chin. “The cakes are fine.” 

“Good.” Marius hugged her back and smiled wearily at Cosette. “I don’t think I’d be able to take it if the cakes were poisoned.” 

Cosette took a deep breath and dug her nails into her palms behind her back. “Marius, the other thing...” 

“Would you mind if I went out with Cosette?” Éponine asked quietly, pulling away to look up at him. 

Marius stared down at her, then across at Cosette. “Went out as in _date?_ ” 

“Yes.” Éponine kept her arms around him, and Cosette let her nerves show a bit. “I’d like to date her. Very much.” 

Marius looked down at her for a long, silent moment. “What does it matter what I think?” 

“Because you’re our friend,” Éponine replied immediately, “and we want you to be okay with it.” 

He looked over at Cosette and smiled slightly, holding her gaze for a few seconds. “Of course I’m okay with it,” he said quietly. Éponine hugged him tightly and Cosette went over to hug him as well, both of them dwarfed by his height. “So, are the cupcakes coming-out cakes?” he asked after a moment, sounding a little better. “Because if they are we should do those linked symbols on them in icing.” 

Éponine snorted. “Linked symbols?” 

“Yeah, you know.” He pulled away and grinned at her. “The Venus signs? The circles with crosses under them. Two of them means two girls, right?” 

Cosette laughed and hugged him tighter. “I’m really glad you’re okay with this.” 

“You’re happy,” he shrugged. “Getting in the way of anyone’s happiness is a dick move. Besides, I think I’m okay now.” He squeezed her gently before releasing her. “But you guys have to agree to help me beat up anyone who tries to turn this on me.” 

“What do you mean?” Cosette asked. 

“Marius is so repulsive he managed to turn not one, but _two_ girls into lesbians?” Marius raised an eyebrow. “Not a reputation I really want. No offense.” 

Éponine grinned. “We’ll kick the ass of anyone who says dumb shit. Cool?” 

“As long as I get the cake I was promised.” 

Cosette hugged him again, impulsively, and then went to hug Éponine, who pressed a kiss to the side of her neck while Marius’ back was turned. After that, restraining herself while they decorated the cakes was torture. The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that when they were done and alone again, they could start up where they left off. 

Just after they’d finished (they’d drawn linked Venus signs in pink icing on half of the cupcakes at Marius’ insistence), their phones all went off at the same time. “Courfeyrac,” Cosette realised as Éponine slid hers out of her pocket and snorted. 

“That bastard.” 

“What is it?” Marius looked over her shoulder and Cosette came to stand next to her, taking the opportunity to slip an arm around her waist, secretly thrilled that she could do that now. She laughed at Courfeyrac’s text and turned her face against Éponine’s neck to hide her blush. 

Courfeyrac: LOOK! LOOK AT THIS! NOT FAKE! 100% REAL! COSETTE AND ÉPONINE ARE TOTALLY A THING AND I FOUND OUT FIRST!!!!!! 

Courfeyrac: Btw don’t text me back I’m on a date text them instead k? 

Attached was the photo he’d taken of her and Éponine kissing against the kitchen wall. Cosette fully intended on printing it out on good-quality paper and sticking it in her diary to treasure forever. 

Marius laughed and grabbed the plate of Venus coming-out cakes. “Quick, hold these.” He passed them to Éponine and gestured for Cosette to hold them as well as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Smile!” 

“You’re not serious,” Éponine complained, but she smiled and lifted the plate with Cosette anyway. “What’re you doing?” 

“Mass text.” Marius sounded smug. “Courfeyrac got the kissing photo, but I helped you bake the cakes. I win.” 

“This isn’t a competition!” Éponine laughed. 

“Éponine, you don’t understand,” Marius said seriously, fingers flying on his phone. “I have to gain the upper hand. Courfeyrac cannot be allowed to win.” 

Cosette giggled. “Boys are idiots.” 

“Long live the lesbians.” Marius grabbed one of the cakes from the plate and lifted it in a mock-toast. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an essay to write. Don’t be too loud, please?” 

Cosette covered her face with her hands, and he laughed as he went upstairs. When she looked, Éponine was blushing as well, and they exchanged embarrassed smiles. “I think he forgets we don’t need to worry about noise – you have a whole apartment to yourself,” Éponine said, and grinned when Cosette covered her face again. “Hey.” 

Cosette’s hands were drawn slowly away from her face, and Éponine touched their foreheads together. Cosette met her eyes and whispered, “Hi.” 

“Want to watch a movie? Finish painting your nails?” 

Cosette kissed her and smiled when they broke apart. “That sounds good.” 

They ended up putting on something they’d both already seen and ignoring the texts the others kept sending in favour of making out on the sofa, losing all track of time. It was perfect. Every nerve in Cosette’s body sang at the contact, her mind blanking out everything that existed beyond the soft cushions under her back and the heavy warmth of Éponine’s body on top of hers. Her hair was unravelling from its plait and she hummed in pleasure as Éponine kissed her neck, her breath in Cosette’s ear making her ache and arch up, seeking more. 

“Beautiful,” Éponine murmured against her lips, and Cosette glowed. 

“I love you,” she whispered, too far gone to care if she was saying it too early – they’d technically told each other already, after all. 

Éponine kissed her hard for a long minute before pulling away with a happy noise and sliding a hand into Cosette’s loose hair, thumb stroking the soft skin under her eye. “I love you too.” 

Cosette couldn’t suppress her smile, and hid it instead against Éponine’s neck, feeling like she would burst from happiness. Soon the movie would end and Grantaire and Courfeyrac would get back and start teasing them, but till then the only thing that mattered was Éponine. Now that she had Éponine and Éponine had her, everything would be wonderful. Everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shmoopy endings - I can't seem to escape them. OH WELL. :D
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


End file.
